London Calling

Un relat de: Dorian

La parada de metro de Hyde Park Corner, per la tarda. Milers de cossos difusos surten de les cavernes del tube atrafegats, aliens, corrent d'homes i dones copiats en sèrie, les venes de London obertes perpètuament esputant la seva sang humana. Just sortint, murals decoren el passadís recordant la victòria contra Napoleó i, ja a l'exterior, l'imponent estàtua del Duc de Wellington, vencedor de Waterloo, comparteix estança amb els coloms i els excrements. Els supervisors, atents a irregularitats en el fluir. Una dona, una dona vella, camina lentament, amb indecisió, erràticament. S'apropa a una de les portes automàtiques, sembla dir-se quelcom, torna enrere. Es dirigeix a una altre porta i dubta de nou. Una mirada de prop ens revela que duu uns pantalans color blau cel, d'hospital. S'ha pixat a sobre i tot el líquid taca l'interior de les cames. Les sabates, gastades, exhaustes com la propietària, deixen veure uns peus bruts, amb ferides. Tracta de parlar amb un dels supervisors, l'home se la mira amb cara de disgust. Ella l'hi diu quelcom i finalment l'home marxa a l'altra banda de les portes. La dona el segueix i torna a parlar-li. L'home finalment, per treure-se-la de sobre l'hi obre una porta i la deixa passar. La dona continua parlant però l'home mira cap a una altre banda, desitjant que s'esvaeixi de la seva vista aquella imatge de desgracia i misèria, que s'acabi el torn, i que pugui tornar a casa. La dona finalment comença a caminar cap a les escales mecàniques. La gent l'hi passa al davant, com si hi hagués un espai ocupat per quelcom insignificant, no mereixedor ni d'una mirada. Després d'una estona la mateixa dona mira els vagons passar per davant a l'andana: hi ha massa gent i no s'atreveix a ficar-se en un d'ells. De què té por si és invisible? Quan ho intenta un grup de gent l'aparta i la deixa on era. Massa lenta, massa vella, massa desgraciada. Temps després s'escolta un crit, uns frens de metall, un cos destrossat ficat a una bossa per cadàvers. Més brossa.


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l´Autor

Dorian

202 Relats

102 Comentaris

139260 Lectures

Valoració de l'autor: 9.39

Biografia:
"Milions son condemnats a una encara més fosca condemna que la meva, milions es revolten silenciosament contra el seu destí. Ningú coneix quantes revolucions a banda de les polítiques fermenten en les masses de gent que poblen la Terra."

"...human beings must love something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I doted on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of sensation."

-Currer Bell

"Soc la més eminent de les persones. I la més indigna"

-Mao Zedong

"The art of life is the art of avoiding pain"

-Thomas Jefferson

"It is a curious object of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom. Each, in it's utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his object."

-Nathaniel Hawthorne

"At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide"

-F.Scott Fitzgerald

"Imanishi se hallaba obsesionado con la idea de que a menos de que llegara pronto para él la destrucción, el infierno de la vida cotidiana se reavivaría y le consumiría; si la destrucción no sobrevenía inmediatamente estaría sometido todavía más tiempo a la fantasía de que le devorara la estolidez. Era mejor verse arrastrado a una catástrofe repentina y total que carcomido por el cáncer de la imaginación. Todo ello podía deberse al miedo inconsciente a que se revelara su indudable mediocridad si no se daba fin a sí mismo sin demora."

-Yukio Mishima

"Why did his mind fly uneasily to that void, as if it were the sole reason why life was not thoroughly joyous to him? I suppose it is the way with all men and woman who reach middle age without the clear perception that life never can be thoroughly joyous: under the vague dullness of the grey hours, dissatisfaction seeks a definite object, and finds it in the privation of an untried good."

-George Eliot

" [...]It is "your" congressman, "your" highway, "your" favorite drugstore, "your" newspaper; it is brought to "you", it invites "you", etc. In this manner, superimposed, standarized, and general things and functions are presented as "especially for you". It makes little difference whether or not the individuals thus addressed believe it. Its success indicates that it promotes the self-identificacion of the individuals with the functions which they and the others perform."

-Marcuse

"[...] how the drunk and the maimed both are dragged forward out of the arena like a boneless Christ, one man under each arm, feet dragging, eyes on the aether."

-David Foster Wallace

"That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose. Try it sometime. I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it'll say "Holden Caulfield" on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it'll say "Fuck you." I'm positive, in fact."

-J.D.Salinger

“The so-called 'psychotically depressed' person who tries to kill herself doesn't do so out of quote 'hopelessness' or any abstract conviction that life's assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in who Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from buring windows. The terror of falling from a great height is still as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire's flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling 'Don't!' and "Hang on!', can understand the jump. Not really. You'd have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling”
― David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest