todavía se siente cómo se resquiebra por dentro
todo cae, inevitablemente, y suenan pedazos de cristal chocando entre sí
luego las pisadas que se van
y con ellas tu olor.
lunes, 30 de julio de 2007
domingo, 24 de junio de 2007
Batman: Black or White, Chapter Two
BATMAN: BLACK OR WHITE
CHAPTER TWO
April 2
In what seems to be another day, the sun slowly sets behind the tall Gotham City’s skyscrapers.
…
Above, the cloud ceiling reflects no Batsignal, as if it’s missing it.
…
Inside his manor, Bruce Wayne contemplates the beautiful sunset, as the sun rays come through the tall windows.
…
Without saying a word, Bruce Wayne turns back and heads towards a grand piano, that stands in the middle of the manor’s living room. He opens its large cage, introducing one of his hands. Then, there is a faint sound, as he pushes a button hidden inside.
…
*CLICK*
…
Without any delay, a tall and antique grandfather’s clock opens immediately revealing a path.
…
The clock’s hands point at seven hours and thirty-nine minutes in the starting night.
…
Inside his Batcave, Gotham City’s favorite playboy walks and passes by a number of giant vaults like closets aligned through a long corridor. Suddenly, he stops in front of one of them.
(At the dead end a vault can be seen with the Batman emblem on it).
…
After entering the secret code the vault opens, showing its contents: rows of different kinds of clothes hanging, wrapped in plastic. Everything is perfectly organized.
…
Under his Bruce Wayne alter-ego, the Batman chooses one (the tag “Matches Malone” can be read on it).
He proceeds to disguise himself with it:
…
First comes the make-up, consisting of changing his hair color and gluing a thin mustache, along with a scar that runs up from his neck to the half of his left cheek.
…
Then he gets dressed, with a reddish brown suit and a fedora.
…
Finally, he puts on a pair of dark glasses and a golden tooth, assuming the Matches Malone persona.
…
Later in his Batcave’s garage, the Batman (concealed under the Matches Malone’s disguise) walks in front of a vast variety of cars and other different ways of transportation.
…
(Small Search and Rescue helicopters and gliders, as well as other types of aircrafts can be seen).
…
He keeps walking until he stops in front of a black, 1947, two-doors, Lincoln Continental Coupe.
…
The car looks used, though in perfect condition.
…
Matches Malone sits on the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It roars in response, and he drives away.
…
Seen from above, Gotham City’s Downtown flashes with life. Its neon signs and colorful pedestrians populate in what would be an otherwise moonless night. High-class prostitutes and their pimps; gamblers and thieves; tourists and executives; all cross the streets indistinctly. Luxury cars and taxis speed down and up the avenues and boulevards.
…
Matches Malone, comfortably inside his automobile, drives away from the top-class shore of Downtown and heads into Gotham City’s darkest entrails, directly to the East End.
…
The East End was born in the Twenties, in a time known to history as the Prohibition era in the United States of America. Within those years, gangsters smuggling alcohol established their base of operations inside and beneath these buildings. The first and upper floors were used as the offices and headquarters for their legitimate businesses, a façade which served as a front for their criminal activity. The basements, in turn, stored great amounts of moonshine. Dug tunnels connecting the basements made easier the traffic and hiding of the illegal booze.
…
When the Prohibition ended with the ratification of the Twenty-first Amendment in nineteen thirty three, the remaining gangsters saw an opportunity and moved along with their millions of dollars to new shores, namely, those of Downtown.
…
The less fortunate became its permanent residents: the homeless and vagrants, the unemployed hit men and ruffians, the lowlifes and whores, the scoundrels and pickpockets.
…
The old and then uninhabited buildings were either demolished or remodeled: warehouses were turned into porn cinemas; offices into striptease clubs and brothels; small neighborhood stores into sleazy bars and nightclubs.
…
As for the basements’ tunnels, their former owners were intelligent enough to block them up and forget about them. Their existence became an urban legend, even to the police force of the city.
To these days, twenty or thirty years later, very few people know of their existence; among them is the Batman.
…
Matches Malone arrives to the East End, leaving his car in a parking lot. With his hands inside his jacket’s pockets, he crosses the street and calmly walks through the poverty and the disease which abounds on every sidewalk. Half-naked girls and women offer their services interestedly, while beggars only extend their dirty hands, without saying a word or looking at him.
…
After a while of strolling through back-alleys, he eventually makes it to the destination of his trek: a juke joint called “Jezebel”, where mobsters and goons gather to share drinks and, if inquired politely, a little information.
…
A bouncer standing in front of the entrance recognizes him and steps aside, ignoring the order to frisk each entering customer.
…
Inside of this place the cigarette’s smoke casts a murky cloud. Drinks come and go as the bartender incessantly serves them, while the waitresses work hard to keep the clients satisfied. Two drunk men tussle to play their desired songs on the jukebox. For the time being, Lois Armstrong’s “Mack the Knife” fills the atmosphere with its outstanding jazz.
…
Despite the dim light, Matches Malone recognizes some unfriendly gazes staring at him.
…
He grins, and his golden tooth shines.
Matches Malone (to himself): SIX TOUGH LOOKING GUYS, HUH? SURE THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE.
Matches Malone (to himself): I’LL START WITH THEM.
…
Without neither hesitation nor haste, he moves towards them.
…
The antisocials take notice, and prepare themselves for the uninvited guest.
…
Upon arriving, Matches Malone takes his fedora off, in sign of respect. His interlocutors, on the contrary, lean on their elbows against the table, showing mistrust.
…
The meanest looking guy is the first to speak:
Mr. White: I’LL BE DAMN, IF IT ISN’T MATCHES MALONE!
He inhales from his cigar, blowing a dragon’s breath of smoke.
…
Mr. White: LONG TIME NO SEE.
Mr. White: WHAT BRINGS YOU DOWN HERE?
…
Matches Malone: I HEARED THERE’S BEEN A MURDER.
Matches Malone: MY BOSS IS CONCERNED HOW THIS EVENTUALITY COULD ALTER THE BUSINESS.
…
For a brief moment there is an uncomfortable silence. Matches Malone takes a match and puts it in his mouth.
…
Matches Malone: MURDERS AREN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS, FOR THE BUSINESS DEALS WITH LIVE WOMEN, NOT DEAD ONES.
Matches Malone: AND DEAD WOMEN CALL POLICE’S ATTENTION, AND POLICE’S ATTENTION ISN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS,
Matches Malone: NO IT ISN’T.
Matches Malone: THEY MAY BE PAYED OFF, BUT SUCH AN INCIDENT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO DRIVE RIVAL GANGS TO WAGE WAR FOR TURF,
Matches Malone: AND THEN POLICE WILL HAVE TO MEDDLE,
Matches Malone: NO MATTER WHAT.
…
Mr. Brown: I SEE.
Mr. Brown: AND WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW ‘BOUT THIS MURDER?
…
Mr. White: WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU IDIOT?!
He pounds the table with his fist.
…
A man among the brutes finishes his drink. He stands up. His voice is hoarse, although he speaks in a gentle manner:
Mr. Blonde: LET’S CALM DOWN, WOULD YA? WHY DON’T WE GO OUTSIDE AND HAVE SOME FRESH AIR? ALL THIS SMOKE SEEMS TO START TO GET TO OUR NERVES.
Mr. Blonde: IT’S TOO CROWDED IN HERE.
Mr. Blonde: LET’S GO OUT…
…
He makes sure Matches Malone can see the gun in his hand, hidden under his coat, pointing at him.
Mr. Blonde: …COME ON, BE A GOOD LAD.
…
Seven men leave the bar. Matches Malone walks in front, with his hands up; Mr. Blue and Mr. Orange escort him, with their guns pointing straight at him; Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown, Mr. Blonde and Mr. White follow them closely.
…
The alley is narrow, with trashcans scattered alongside the walls.
…
Mr. White: YOU’RE GONNA TELL US EVERYTHIN’ Y’KNOW ABOUT THIS MURDER.
Mr. White: YOU CAME ASKIN’ QUESTIONS, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME IT’S YOU WHO HAVE THE ANSWERS.
Matches Malone: I KNOW NOTHIN’.
Mr. White: SHUT UP.
Mr. White: YOU’LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO TALK LATER.
…
He takes one last blow from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.
…
Mr. White: KEEP WALKIN’, THE CAR’S JUST AHEAD.
Matches Malone: WHERE’RE YOU TAKIN’ ME? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TO ME?
Mr. White: YOU’LL KNOW SOON ENOUGH, MY PARTNER WILL TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOU.
…
Mr. Blonde: “ALL YOU CAN DO IS PRAY FOR A QUICK DEATH, WHICH YOU AIN’T GONNA GET”.
Matches Malone: THERE’S NO NEED TO PRAY:
Matches Malone: NO ONE’S DYING TONITE.
…
Before any one could react to his words, Matches Malone turns around and grabs the two nearest thugs strongly by their arms, impeding them to use their weapons.
…
The one to his right receives a knee-kick in the stomach. He falls to the ground.
…
The one to his left is tossed upside down against the wall. He lands on his head.
…
The two are left unarmed and unconscious.
…
Next, with blistering speed, he grabs a trashcan’s cap and throws it at two of the four men remaining.
…
They too end up unarmed and out of combat, as the cap hits Mr. Pink in the hand, ricocheting against Mr. Brown’s head.
…
Mr. Brown falls to the ground, blood spurting from his forehead. Mr. Pink is propelled back against some trashcans, as a consequence of the impact.
…
He crawls for cover.
…
Panic strikes Mr. White’s and Mr. Blonde’s face.
…
Too clumsy and slow to stand a chance, they are bested easily. It only takes one more kick…
…
…and one last jab.
…
Only one, of the initial six men, remains conscious to speak. He is a coward miscreant with big blue eyes and big teeth, enclosed by a big mouth. He has a thin moustache and a chin beard. His head, in relation to his features, is somehow small.
…
He moans and whines, crouched in a corner, because of the pain in his hand. He holds it against his chest with his other arm.
Mr. Pink: WHAT THE HELL!? YOU BROKE MY WRIST, OH GOD, YOU BROKE MY WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL KILL YOU, GODDAMMIT! I’LL KILL YOU!
…
Matches Malone walks towards him, like he had all the time in the whole world. Then, kindly, grabs his healthy arm; Mr. Pink, confused and without knowing what to do, merely contemplates…
Matches Malone: THAT ISN’T A BROKEN WRIST, YOU’RE JUST SORE.
…
Following this, he breaks the felon’s wrist with a swift and firm movement:
…
*CRAC*
…
Matches Malone: NOW, THAT’S A BROKEN WRIST.
…
Mr. Pink: AAAAWWWWWWW! MY WRIST, YOU BROKE MY GODDAMNED WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK! I’LL SING WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO!
Mr. Pink: PLEASE, PLEASE I BEG YOU, DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE, YOU BROKE MY WRIST! AWWWWW, MY WRIIIISST…
…
Matches Malone (to himself): SURE IT HURTS.
Matches Malone (to himself): WE TALK.
Matches Malone (to himself): HE TELLS ME EVERYTHING HE KNOWS.
CHAPTER TWO
April 2
In what seems to be another day, the sun slowly sets behind the tall Gotham City’s skyscrapers.
…
Above, the cloud ceiling reflects no Batsignal, as if it’s missing it.
…
Inside his manor, Bruce Wayne contemplates the beautiful sunset, as the sun rays come through the tall windows.
…
Without saying a word, Bruce Wayne turns back and heads towards a grand piano, that stands in the middle of the manor’s living room. He opens its large cage, introducing one of his hands. Then, there is a faint sound, as he pushes a button hidden inside.
…
*CLICK*
…
Without any delay, a tall and antique grandfather’s clock opens immediately revealing a path.
…
The clock’s hands point at seven hours and thirty-nine minutes in the starting night.
…
Inside his Batcave, Gotham City’s favorite playboy walks and passes by a number of giant vaults like closets aligned through a long corridor. Suddenly, he stops in front of one of them.
(At the dead end a vault can be seen with the Batman emblem on it).
…
After entering the secret code the vault opens, showing its contents: rows of different kinds of clothes hanging, wrapped in plastic. Everything is perfectly organized.
…
Under his Bruce Wayne alter-ego, the Batman chooses one (the tag “Matches Malone” can be read on it).
He proceeds to disguise himself with it:
…
First comes the make-up, consisting of changing his hair color and gluing a thin mustache, along with a scar that runs up from his neck to the half of his left cheek.
…
Then he gets dressed, with a reddish brown suit and a fedora.
…
Finally, he puts on a pair of dark glasses and a golden tooth, assuming the Matches Malone persona.
…
Later in his Batcave’s garage, the Batman (concealed under the Matches Malone’s disguise) walks in front of a vast variety of cars and other different ways of transportation.
…
(Small Search and Rescue helicopters and gliders, as well as other types of aircrafts can be seen).
…
He keeps walking until he stops in front of a black, 1947, two-doors, Lincoln Continental Coupe.
…
The car looks used, though in perfect condition.
…
Matches Malone sits on the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It roars in response, and he drives away.
…
Seen from above, Gotham City’s Downtown flashes with life. Its neon signs and colorful pedestrians populate in what would be an otherwise moonless night. High-class prostitutes and their pimps; gamblers and thieves; tourists and executives; all cross the streets indistinctly. Luxury cars and taxis speed down and up the avenues and boulevards.
…
Matches Malone, comfortably inside his automobile, drives away from the top-class shore of Downtown and heads into Gotham City’s darkest entrails, directly to the East End.
…
The East End was born in the Twenties, in a time known to history as the Prohibition era in the United States of America. Within those years, gangsters smuggling alcohol established their base of operations inside and beneath these buildings. The first and upper floors were used as the offices and headquarters for their legitimate businesses, a façade which served as a front for their criminal activity. The basements, in turn, stored great amounts of moonshine. Dug tunnels connecting the basements made easier the traffic and hiding of the illegal booze.
…
When the Prohibition ended with the ratification of the Twenty-first Amendment in nineteen thirty three, the remaining gangsters saw an opportunity and moved along with their millions of dollars to new shores, namely, those of Downtown.
…
The less fortunate became its permanent residents: the homeless and vagrants, the unemployed hit men and ruffians, the lowlifes and whores, the scoundrels and pickpockets.
…
The old and then uninhabited buildings were either demolished or remodeled: warehouses were turned into porn cinemas; offices into striptease clubs and brothels; small neighborhood stores into sleazy bars and nightclubs.
…
As for the basements’ tunnels, their former owners were intelligent enough to block them up and forget about them. Their existence became an urban legend, even to the police force of the city.
To these days, twenty or thirty years later, very few people know of their existence; among them is the Batman.
…
Matches Malone arrives to the East End, leaving his car in a parking lot. With his hands inside his jacket’s pockets, he crosses the street and calmly walks through the poverty and the disease which abounds on every sidewalk. Half-naked girls and women offer their services interestedly, while beggars only extend their dirty hands, without saying a word or looking at him.
…
After a while of strolling through back-alleys, he eventually makes it to the destination of his trek: a juke joint called “Jezebel”, where mobsters and goons gather to share drinks and, if inquired politely, a little information.
…
A bouncer standing in front of the entrance recognizes him and steps aside, ignoring the order to frisk each entering customer.
…
Inside of this place the cigarette’s smoke casts a murky cloud. Drinks come and go as the bartender incessantly serves them, while the waitresses work hard to keep the clients satisfied. Two drunk men tussle to play their desired songs on the jukebox. For the time being, Lois Armstrong’s “Mack the Knife” fills the atmosphere with its outstanding jazz.
…
Despite the dim light, Matches Malone recognizes some unfriendly gazes staring at him.
…
He grins, and his golden tooth shines.
Matches Malone (to himself): SIX TOUGH LOOKING GUYS, HUH? SURE THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE.
Matches Malone (to himself): I’LL START WITH THEM.
…
Without neither hesitation nor haste, he moves towards them.
…
The antisocials take notice, and prepare themselves for the uninvited guest.
…
Upon arriving, Matches Malone takes his fedora off, in sign of respect. His interlocutors, on the contrary, lean on their elbows against the table, showing mistrust.
…
The meanest looking guy is the first to speak:
Mr. White: I’LL BE DAMN, IF IT ISN’T MATCHES MALONE!
He inhales from his cigar, blowing a dragon’s breath of smoke.
…
Mr. White: LONG TIME NO SEE.
Mr. White: WHAT BRINGS YOU DOWN HERE?
…
Matches Malone: I HEARED THERE’S BEEN A MURDER.
Matches Malone: MY BOSS IS CONCERNED HOW THIS EVENTUALITY COULD ALTER THE BUSINESS.
…
For a brief moment there is an uncomfortable silence. Matches Malone takes a match and puts it in his mouth.
…
Matches Malone: MURDERS AREN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS, FOR THE BUSINESS DEALS WITH LIVE WOMEN, NOT DEAD ONES.
Matches Malone: AND DEAD WOMEN CALL POLICE’S ATTENTION, AND POLICE’S ATTENTION ISN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS,
Matches Malone: NO IT ISN’T.
Matches Malone: THEY MAY BE PAYED OFF, BUT SUCH AN INCIDENT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO DRIVE RIVAL GANGS TO WAGE WAR FOR TURF,
Matches Malone: AND THEN POLICE WILL HAVE TO MEDDLE,
Matches Malone: NO MATTER WHAT.
…
Mr. Brown: I SEE.
Mr. Brown: AND WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW ‘BOUT THIS MURDER?
…
Mr. White: WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU IDIOT?!
He pounds the table with his fist.
…
A man among the brutes finishes his drink. He stands up. His voice is hoarse, although he speaks in a gentle manner:
Mr. Blonde: LET’S CALM DOWN, WOULD YA? WHY DON’T WE GO OUTSIDE AND HAVE SOME FRESH AIR? ALL THIS SMOKE SEEMS TO START TO GET TO OUR NERVES.
Mr. Blonde: IT’S TOO CROWDED IN HERE.
Mr. Blonde: LET’S GO OUT…
…
He makes sure Matches Malone can see the gun in his hand, hidden under his coat, pointing at him.
Mr. Blonde: …COME ON, BE A GOOD LAD.
…
Seven men leave the bar. Matches Malone walks in front, with his hands up; Mr. Blue and Mr. Orange escort him, with their guns pointing straight at him; Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown, Mr. Blonde and Mr. White follow them closely.
…
The alley is narrow, with trashcans scattered alongside the walls.
…
Mr. White: YOU’RE GONNA TELL US EVERYTHIN’ Y’KNOW ABOUT THIS MURDER.
Mr. White: YOU CAME ASKIN’ QUESTIONS, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME IT’S YOU WHO HAVE THE ANSWERS.
Matches Malone: I KNOW NOTHIN’.
Mr. White: SHUT UP.
Mr. White: YOU’LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO TALK LATER.
…
He takes one last blow from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.
…
Mr. White: KEEP WALKIN’, THE CAR’S JUST AHEAD.
Matches Malone: WHERE’RE YOU TAKIN’ ME? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TO ME?
Mr. White: YOU’LL KNOW SOON ENOUGH, MY PARTNER WILL TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOU.
…
Mr. Blonde: “ALL YOU CAN DO IS PRAY FOR A QUICK DEATH, WHICH YOU AIN’T GONNA GET”.
Matches Malone: THERE’S NO NEED TO PRAY:
Matches Malone: NO ONE’S DYING TONITE.
…
Before any one could react to his words, Matches Malone turns around and grabs the two nearest thugs strongly by their arms, impeding them to use their weapons.
…
The one to his right receives a knee-kick in the stomach. He falls to the ground.
…
The one to his left is tossed upside down against the wall. He lands on his head.
…
The two are left unarmed and unconscious.
…
Next, with blistering speed, he grabs a trashcan’s cap and throws it at two of the four men remaining.
…
They too end up unarmed and out of combat, as the cap hits Mr. Pink in the hand, ricocheting against Mr. Brown’s head.
…
Mr. Brown falls to the ground, blood spurting from his forehead. Mr. Pink is propelled back against some trashcans, as a consequence of the impact.
…
He crawls for cover.
…
Panic strikes Mr. White’s and Mr. Blonde’s face.
…
Too clumsy and slow to stand a chance, they are bested easily. It only takes one more kick…
…
…and one last jab.
…
Only one, of the initial six men, remains conscious to speak. He is a coward miscreant with big blue eyes and big teeth, enclosed by a big mouth. He has a thin moustache and a chin beard. His head, in relation to his features, is somehow small.
…
He moans and whines, crouched in a corner, because of the pain in his hand. He holds it against his chest with his other arm.
Mr. Pink: WHAT THE HELL!? YOU BROKE MY WRIST, OH GOD, YOU BROKE MY WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL KILL YOU, GODDAMMIT! I’LL KILL YOU!
…
Matches Malone walks towards him, like he had all the time in the whole world. Then, kindly, grabs his healthy arm; Mr. Pink, confused and without knowing what to do, merely contemplates…
Matches Malone: THAT ISN’T A BROKEN WRIST, YOU’RE JUST SORE.
…
Following this, he breaks the felon’s wrist with a swift and firm movement:
…
*CRAC*
…
Matches Malone: NOW, THAT’S A BROKEN WRIST.
…
Mr. Pink: AAAAWWWWWWW! MY WRIST, YOU BROKE MY GODDAMNED WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK! I’LL SING WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO!
Mr. Pink: PLEASE, PLEASE I BEG YOU, DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE, YOU BROKE MY WRIST! AWWWWW, MY WRIIIISST…
…
Matches Malone (to himself): SURE IT HURTS.
Matches Malone (to himself): WE TALK.
Matches Malone (to himself): HE TELLS ME EVERYTHING HE KNOWS.
Batman: Black or White, Chapter One
BATMAN: BLACK OR WHITE
CHAPTER ONE
9:11 p.m.
Alone, in the middle of a dark and filthy alley stands the Batman. With his eyes nailed to the floor, he stares at the lifeless body lying in front of him.
Batman (to himself): HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO WITNESS THE SAME SCENE?
…
From a distance, commissioner Gordon and his policemen struggle to keep away the curious citizens. The area is isolated with police tape.
…
Crouching next to the body, the Batman examines the corpse without touching it.
Batman (to himself): NO. IT’S NOT THE SAME, IT’S ALWAYS DIFFERENT. THE NEXT BEING MORE TERRIFYING THAN THE LATTER.
Batman (to himself): THIS TIME, A GIRL NO OLDER THAN THIRTEEN OR FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, STRANGLED. THE MARKS IN HER NECK SUGGEST A LEATHER BELT WITH SOME KIND OF ENGRAVINGS ON IT.
Batman (to himself): FURTHER STUDIES ARE NECESSARY TO CONFIRM THIS FIRST HYPOTHESIS.
…
Commissioner Gordon comes to his encounter.
Gordon: HOW BAD IS IT THIS TIME?
…
The Batman disappears into the night, without turning back.
Batman: NOT BAD…
Batman: EVIL.
…
Batman: I’LL TAKE HER WITH ME.
…
Commissioner Gordon tries in vain to repress a feeling of both exhaustion and annoyance.
…
Later on that night, the corpse of the young girl lies on a metal surface of what seems to be the Batman’s personal forensics room. All necessary instruments lie perfectly ordered at hand.
…
First, he takes photographs of the marks on her neck.
…
Then he proceeds to remove the clothes from the body, discovering new marks all over it resembling the ones on the neck, especially near her tiny breasts.
…
Batman: A MOUTH MADE THESE.
…
He takes more photographs.
…
Last, he holds a scalpel in his hand and buries it deep behind each of the girl’s ears. The two incisions meet at the sternum. From there he continues to cut a line running through her body, ending in the pubic bone.
…
He takes the skin and peels it back.
…
Batman: THE AUTOPSY EFFECTIVELY CONFIRMED THE CAUSE OF DEATH AS OF ASPHYXIA; CONTRARY TO MY FIRST HYPOTHESIS, IT WAS NOT BECAUSE A BELT WAS USED TO STRANGLE HER: SOMEONE WITH A GREAT STRENGTH HELD HIS HAND AGAINST HER MOUTH.
Batman: THE EXAMINATION REVEALED THE MARKS WERE DONE A WHILE BEFORE HER DEATH.
Batman: TIME RANGES FROM TWO TO THREE DAYS.
Batman: ALSO, THERE ARE NO EVIDENT SIGNS OF RAPE,
Batman: THOUGH THE GIRL IS NOT A VIRGIN.
…
Walking around the room, he continues:
Batman: THE BELT WASN’T FOUND NEAR THE CRIME SCENE.
Batman: NEITHER A CLUE OF WHO COMMITTED THE ASSASINATION.
Batman: ABOUT HER IDENTITY: NO IDENTIFICATION OR WALLET WERE FOUND.
…
The Batman leaves the room and walks down a hallway leading to the Main Computer. While staring at the bats above him, he keeps talking:
Batman: DATE: APRIL THE 1ST.
…
His eyes widen with surprise.
Batman: WAIT!
…
…as he lowers his head, showing defeat.
Batman: THIS CAN’T BE A JOKE…
Batman: APRIL’S FOOL…
…
The Batman removes his cowl.
…
He sits down and takes a deep breath.
…
Utterly alone, he leans against the back of his chair in the deep underground, dark Batcave.
Batman: STOP RECORDING.
CHAPTER ONE
9:11 p.m.
Alone, in the middle of a dark and filthy alley stands the Batman. With his eyes nailed to the floor, he stares at the lifeless body lying in front of him.
Batman (to himself): HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO WITNESS THE SAME SCENE?
…
From a distance, commissioner Gordon and his policemen struggle to keep away the curious citizens. The area is isolated with police tape.
…
Crouching next to the body, the Batman examines the corpse without touching it.
Batman (to himself): NO. IT’S NOT THE SAME, IT’S ALWAYS DIFFERENT. THE NEXT BEING MORE TERRIFYING THAN THE LATTER.
Batman (to himself): THIS TIME, A GIRL NO OLDER THAN THIRTEEN OR FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, STRANGLED. THE MARKS IN HER NECK SUGGEST A LEATHER BELT WITH SOME KIND OF ENGRAVINGS ON IT.
Batman (to himself): FURTHER STUDIES ARE NECESSARY TO CONFIRM THIS FIRST HYPOTHESIS.
…
Commissioner Gordon comes to his encounter.
Gordon: HOW BAD IS IT THIS TIME?
…
The Batman disappears into the night, without turning back.
Batman: NOT BAD…
Batman: EVIL.
…
Batman: I’LL TAKE HER WITH ME.
…
Commissioner Gordon tries in vain to repress a feeling of both exhaustion and annoyance.
…
Later on that night, the corpse of the young girl lies on a metal surface of what seems to be the Batman’s personal forensics room. All necessary instruments lie perfectly ordered at hand.
…
First, he takes photographs of the marks on her neck.
…
Then he proceeds to remove the clothes from the body, discovering new marks all over it resembling the ones on the neck, especially near her tiny breasts.
…
Batman: A MOUTH MADE THESE.
…
He takes more photographs.
…
Last, he holds a scalpel in his hand and buries it deep behind each of the girl’s ears. The two incisions meet at the sternum. From there he continues to cut a line running through her body, ending in the pubic bone.
…
He takes the skin and peels it back.
…
Batman: THE AUTOPSY EFFECTIVELY CONFIRMED THE CAUSE OF DEATH AS OF ASPHYXIA; CONTRARY TO MY FIRST HYPOTHESIS, IT WAS NOT BECAUSE A BELT WAS USED TO STRANGLE HER: SOMEONE WITH A GREAT STRENGTH HELD HIS HAND AGAINST HER MOUTH.
Batman: THE EXAMINATION REVEALED THE MARKS WERE DONE A WHILE BEFORE HER DEATH.
Batman: TIME RANGES FROM TWO TO THREE DAYS.
Batman: ALSO, THERE ARE NO EVIDENT SIGNS OF RAPE,
Batman: THOUGH THE GIRL IS NOT A VIRGIN.
…
Walking around the room, he continues:
Batman: THE BELT WASN’T FOUND NEAR THE CRIME SCENE.
Batman: NEITHER A CLUE OF WHO COMMITTED THE ASSASINATION.
Batman: ABOUT HER IDENTITY: NO IDENTIFICATION OR WALLET WERE FOUND.
…
The Batman leaves the room and walks down a hallway leading to the Main Computer. While staring at the bats above him, he keeps talking:
Batman: DATE: APRIL THE 1ST.
…
His eyes widen with surprise.
Batman: WAIT!
…
…as he lowers his head, showing defeat.
Batman: THIS CAN’T BE A JOKE…
Batman: APRIL’S FOOL…
…
The Batman removes his cowl.
…
He sits down and takes a deep breath.
…
Utterly alone, he leans against the back of his chair in the deep underground, dark Batcave.
Batman: STOP RECORDING.
lunes, 26 de junio de 2006
el día de la bestia
hoy sentí algo que nunca antes había experimentado en mi vida.
hoy dejé de ser un hijo de dios.
hoy estuve sentado durante algo más de una hora hablando con un obispo de bogotá. una semana antes había llamado a pedir una cita para poder entrevistarme con él. muy bien, la pregunta "qué te trae por aquí santiago?" condujo a la respuesta "roberto, quiero que me excomulgues".
finalmente, me dijo, yo ya NO hacía parte de la iglesia católica apostólica romana. me estrechó la mano, me posó el brazo por encima del hombro y me dijo que "sentía mucho que no hubiera sido capaz de transferirme su experiencia de la fe", y que si por algún motivo yo descubría la razón por la cual eso había sido así, que por favor se lo manifestara.
salí caminando del lugar como mareado, y me entró de repente una necesidad por respirar muy lento y muy profundo, como si me hiciera falta el aire; sentía que necesitaba respirar todo el aire que había perdido.
se me fue entrando por los poros un sentimiento de libertad que no había experimentado antes... que se tradujo en tranquilidad... que se tradujo en felicidad...
caminé de vuelta y me monté en el primer transmilenio que pasó, esperando que me dejara cercquita de la estación más cercana de la casa de gina. me dejó en la 85: perfecto. sentía tanta energía dentro de mí que me tuve que ir trotando hasta la su casa. llegué sudando e igual tenía energía.
compramos cervezas y guaro. brava para mí y antioqueño para ellos. luego porro y entonces llegamos al momento preciso en el que les escribo esto y estoy totalemente sonriente y tranquilo, contándoles este día de locos.
p.d. acompañando a mi papá a ir a hacer vueltas eternas de banco, me encontré 50mil pesos tirados en el piso. fui a otro banco y los cambié por billetes de 10mil. monté en bus y fui donde "monseñor" roberto. luego llegué donde gina. pedí una caja de "peches". me debían plata así que me la pagaron con cerveza. tomé y fumé y entonces me fui a escribir un blog.
acabo de escribir ese blog. hoy tengo rumba en eje bar, pero sé que la persona que quiero ver no va a ir.
Monday, June 26, 2006
hoy dejé de ser un hijo de dios.
hoy estuve sentado durante algo más de una hora hablando con un obispo de bogotá. una semana antes había llamado a pedir una cita para poder entrevistarme con él. muy bien, la pregunta "qué te trae por aquí santiago?" condujo a la respuesta "roberto, quiero que me excomulgues".
finalmente, me dijo, yo ya NO hacía parte de la iglesia católica apostólica romana. me estrechó la mano, me posó el brazo por encima del hombro y me dijo que "sentía mucho que no hubiera sido capaz de transferirme su experiencia de la fe", y que si por algún motivo yo descubría la razón por la cual eso había sido así, que por favor se lo manifestara.
salí caminando del lugar como mareado, y me entró de repente una necesidad por respirar muy lento y muy profundo, como si me hiciera falta el aire; sentía que necesitaba respirar todo el aire que había perdido.
se me fue entrando por los poros un sentimiento de libertad que no había experimentado antes... que se tradujo en tranquilidad... que se tradujo en felicidad...
caminé de vuelta y me monté en el primer transmilenio que pasó, esperando que me dejara cercquita de la estación más cercana de la casa de gina. me dejó en la 85: perfecto. sentía tanta energía dentro de mí que me tuve que ir trotando hasta la su casa. llegué sudando e igual tenía energía.
compramos cervezas y guaro. brava para mí y antioqueño para ellos. luego porro y entonces llegamos al momento preciso en el que les escribo esto y estoy totalemente sonriente y tranquilo, contándoles este día de locos.
p.d. acompañando a mi papá a ir a hacer vueltas eternas de banco, me encontré 50mil pesos tirados en el piso. fui a otro banco y los cambié por billetes de 10mil. monté en bus y fui donde "monseñor" roberto. luego llegué donde gina. pedí una caja de "peches". me debían plata así que me la pagaron con cerveza. tomé y fumé y entonces me fui a escribir un blog.
acabo de escribir ese blog. hoy tengo rumba en eje bar, pero sé que la persona que quiero ver no va a ir.
Monday, June 26, 2006
jueves, 9 de marzo de 2006
manu chao en vivo! bogotá marzo 8!
muy bien, son aproximadamente las 6 de la tarde y me encuentro haciendo una fila que parece nunca va a terminar. de pronto las 3 cervezas que me tomé comienzan a llenar mi vejiga a reventar, pero no puedo salirme de la fila, verdad? y si le pregunto a uno de esos policías que me deje orinar en el potrero que están cuidando? o si mejor me espero a que se vayan a dar una vuelta y entonces orino? ay no, mierda... que es ese dolor... eso es un riñón... tengo tantas ganas de orinar que me está doliendo un riñón!!!
"marín, qué te pasa?"
"las cervezas... estoy que me orino..."
"sí, tienes una cara... pobresito, ests concentrando todas tus fuerzas en eso, no?"
pasan unos cuantos minutos, no tengo idea cuántos, pero parecen equivalentes a una era geológica... por fin me requisan y rezo para que el policía no me coja las huevas, porque una fuente de ácido úrico podra estallar en cualquier momento en todas direcciones. no! no me cojen las huevas! Gloria In Exelcis Deo!
entro y al fin! orinoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo... ahhhhh...
ahora sí, al concierto. nos encontramos el grupo de amigos y esperamos a que se termine el grupito de teloneros. acaban. pasan minutos otra vez, pero esta vez no tan largos. apagan las luces y todo el mundo comienza a gritar... sí!!! sale manu chao!!! alza las manos y se pone a cantar!!!
"hoy llllloooooooréé y llllooooooooréé"
es una canción nueva, increíble, del putas!!! pasa a la siguiente canción, comienzan suave, pero de pronto aceleran y todos estamos gritando, cantando y saltando como dementes... jueputa!!! toca dos horas de música!!! canta todo, absolutamente todo!!!
"se acabóóóó se acabóóóó se acabóóóó!!!"
y el público "NOOOOOOOO!!!"
salen del escenario y todos aplaudimos. vuelven y tocan tres canciones más. siento que el corazón se me va a salir saltando feliz del pecho... tomo aire, me recuesto en el hombro de algún amigo... bien bien, están cantando "infinita tristeza", eso me dará tiempo de recuperar el aliento... cuando "tu-pa tu-pa tu-pa!!!" aceleran la maldita canción y saltar saltar saltar otra vez como dementes...
se despiden ahora sí, "gracias colombia, gracias mi gente! hasta siempre! hasta la próxima!
otra vez todos aplaudimos y gritamos... y VUELVE A SALIR!!!
tocan "mala vida" a 300 kilómetros por hora... demonios, esto es demasiado, voy a necesitar un transplante de corazón!!! siguen con "king kong five" y "king of the bongo"... alguien por favor deme respiración boca a boca!!!
ahora manu chao sale del escenario y la gritadera no es de este mundo. están tocando la melodía típica de manu chao, la de "je ne t'aime plus" y la mitad de las canciones del "esperanza". se despide el bajista, y todos le agradecemos la energía. sale el tipín de los teclados, y más gritería. sale el de los timbales dando saltos. quedan solos guitarra y batería... se va la batería y queda el guitarrista, que hace un par de canciones sacó la guitarra acústica y se estuvo haciendo unos solos absurdos... se queda tocando, bajando el tempo poco a poco... baja y baja hasta que se calla... y vuelve manu chao!!!
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
los gritos se tienen que oir hasta en chía!!!
vuelve entonces tooooda la banda, felices saltando.
"les presento a garbanzito, mano negra presente!!!"
pues muy bien, garbanzito es un gordito lo más de simpático que ha tocado los timbales durante todo el concierto como un rey. ahora manu chao le entrega el micrófono y garbanzito le da el puesto en los timbales... qué putas? qué va a cantar? "sid'h bibi!!!" y la cantan perfecta!!! me voy a enloquecer!!! otra vez saltar como loco, cantar como loco, dios, tanta emoción no la aguanta mi cuerpo!!!
para terminar dan otra tandita de "radiobemba!radiobemba!radiobemba!" y AHORA SÍ se van... ooooh, dios. apagan las luces y las vuelven a prender... por fin nos vuelve el alma al cuerpo. salimos felices, comentando las canciones, impresionados de lo que acabamos de prescenciar: este ha sido uno de los das más felices de mi vida.
por último salimos, y está lloviendo. nos encontramos todos y a buscar taxi. yo termino yéndome con rivas... no pasan taxis. a rivas se le ocurre una maravillosa idea: "oiga, vámonos caminando hasta detrás del campín y allá cogemos taxi donde no haya tanta gente" "vale rivas, ud dirá, yo no tengo ni puta idea de qué será mejor hacer... yo voto por transmilenio" "marín, sabe la cantidad de transbordos que nos toca hacer para llegar a su casa en transmilenio?!?!" "bueno bueno, caminemos pues hasta el campín"
pues bien, los invito a que se vayan caminando un diíta de estos desde el palacio de los deportes hasta el campín, bajo una de esas lluviecitas capitalinas donde se le mete a uno el frío por los huesos.
llegamos por fin al campín y, saben qué? casi no pasan taxis, y los que pasan recojen a pasajeros tales como un gordo infame que se estaba comiendo un pincho de la calle (no sobra decir que de carne de perro) gritando "yurleidy, véalo véalo, el taxi!" "marbella, véalo véalo, el taxi!"
rivas y yo, parados bajo la lluvia. empapados. transcurre media hora y ya han pasado 20 taxis recogiendo gordos infames o señoras envueltas en plásticos para protegerse de la lluvia.
"rivas, por qué putas no nos para un taxi?". rivas va y se acerca a uno que está vacío. el amable ciudadano le explica que no nos lleva porque estamos mojados... Y ES QUE ACASO ESE GORDO HIJUEPUTA ES A PRUEBA DEL AGUA!?!? EL PLÁSTICO DE ESA SEÑORA NO MOJA!?!?
dice rivas "lo mejor de todo es que lo único que no tenemos mojado es el culo..."
por fin para un taxista. nos lleva a mi apartamento. le pagamos GUSTOSOS. me bajo y le digo a rivas "podría mamársela a ese tipo por traernos" y rivas "yo pensé en hornearle un ponque y decirle -no sé si sea un poco apresurado, pero mirá, es para ti-".
nos reímos como unas pelotas y damos por terminada la noche.
"it's a long, it's a long, it's a long long night"
"marín, qué te pasa?"
"las cervezas... estoy que me orino..."
"sí, tienes una cara... pobresito, ests concentrando todas tus fuerzas en eso, no?"
pasan unos cuantos minutos, no tengo idea cuántos, pero parecen equivalentes a una era geológica... por fin me requisan y rezo para que el policía no me coja las huevas, porque una fuente de ácido úrico podra estallar en cualquier momento en todas direcciones. no! no me cojen las huevas! Gloria In Exelcis Deo!
entro y al fin! orinoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo... ahhhhh...
ahora sí, al concierto. nos encontramos el grupo de amigos y esperamos a que se termine el grupito de teloneros. acaban. pasan minutos otra vez, pero esta vez no tan largos. apagan las luces y todo el mundo comienza a gritar... sí!!! sale manu chao!!! alza las manos y se pone a cantar!!!
"hoy llllloooooooréé y llllooooooooréé"
es una canción nueva, increíble, del putas!!! pasa a la siguiente canción, comienzan suave, pero de pronto aceleran y todos estamos gritando, cantando y saltando como dementes... jueputa!!! toca dos horas de música!!! canta todo, absolutamente todo!!!
"se acabóóóó se acabóóóó se acabóóóó!!!"
y el público "NOOOOOOOO!!!"
salen del escenario y todos aplaudimos. vuelven y tocan tres canciones más. siento que el corazón se me va a salir saltando feliz del pecho... tomo aire, me recuesto en el hombro de algún amigo... bien bien, están cantando "infinita tristeza", eso me dará tiempo de recuperar el aliento... cuando "tu-pa tu-pa tu-pa!!!" aceleran la maldita canción y saltar saltar saltar otra vez como dementes...
se despiden ahora sí, "gracias colombia, gracias mi gente! hasta siempre! hasta la próxima!
otra vez todos aplaudimos y gritamos... y VUELVE A SALIR!!!
tocan "mala vida" a 300 kilómetros por hora... demonios, esto es demasiado, voy a necesitar un transplante de corazón!!! siguen con "king kong five" y "king of the bongo"... alguien por favor deme respiración boca a boca!!!
ahora manu chao sale del escenario y la gritadera no es de este mundo. están tocando la melodía típica de manu chao, la de "je ne t'aime plus" y la mitad de las canciones del "esperanza". se despide el bajista, y todos le agradecemos la energía. sale el tipín de los teclados, y más gritería. sale el de los timbales dando saltos. quedan solos guitarra y batería... se va la batería y queda el guitarrista, que hace un par de canciones sacó la guitarra acústica y se estuvo haciendo unos solos absurdos... se queda tocando, bajando el tempo poco a poco... baja y baja hasta que se calla... y vuelve manu chao!!!
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
los gritos se tienen que oir hasta en chía!!!
vuelve entonces tooooda la banda, felices saltando.
"les presento a garbanzito, mano negra presente!!!"
pues muy bien, garbanzito es un gordito lo más de simpático que ha tocado los timbales durante todo el concierto como un rey. ahora manu chao le entrega el micrófono y garbanzito le da el puesto en los timbales... qué putas? qué va a cantar? "sid'h bibi!!!" y la cantan perfecta!!! me voy a enloquecer!!! otra vez saltar como loco, cantar como loco, dios, tanta emoción no la aguanta mi cuerpo!!!
para terminar dan otra tandita de "radiobemba!radiobemba!radiobemba!" y AHORA SÍ se van... ooooh, dios. apagan las luces y las vuelven a prender... por fin nos vuelve el alma al cuerpo. salimos felices, comentando las canciones, impresionados de lo que acabamos de prescenciar: este ha sido uno de los das más felices de mi vida.
por último salimos, y está lloviendo. nos encontramos todos y a buscar taxi. yo termino yéndome con rivas... no pasan taxis. a rivas se le ocurre una maravillosa idea: "oiga, vámonos caminando hasta detrás del campín y allá cogemos taxi donde no haya tanta gente" "vale rivas, ud dirá, yo no tengo ni puta idea de qué será mejor hacer... yo voto por transmilenio" "marín, sabe la cantidad de transbordos que nos toca hacer para llegar a su casa en transmilenio?!?!" "bueno bueno, caminemos pues hasta el campín"
pues bien, los invito a que se vayan caminando un diíta de estos desde el palacio de los deportes hasta el campín, bajo una de esas lluviecitas capitalinas donde se le mete a uno el frío por los huesos.
llegamos por fin al campín y, saben qué? casi no pasan taxis, y los que pasan recojen a pasajeros tales como un gordo infame que se estaba comiendo un pincho de la calle (no sobra decir que de carne de perro) gritando "yurleidy, véalo véalo, el taxi!" "marbella, véalo véalo, el taxi!"
rivas y yo, parados bajo la lluvia. empapados. transcurre media hora y ya han pasado 20 taxis recogiendo gordos infames o señoras envueltas en plásticos para protegerse de la lluvia.
"rivas, por qué putas no nos para un taxi?". rivas va y se acerca a uno que está vacío. el amable ciudadano le explica que no nos lleva porque estamos mojados... Y ES QUE ACASO ESE GORDO HIJUEPUTA ES A PRUEBA DEL AGUA!?!? EL PLÁSTICO DE ESA SEÑORA NO MOJA!?!?
dice rivas "lo mejor de todo es que lo único que no tenemos mojado es el culo..."
por fin para un taxista. nos lleva a mi apartamento. le pagamos GUSTOSOS. me bajo y le digo a rivas "podría mamársela a ese tipo por traernos" y rivas "yo pensé en hornearle un ponque y decirle -no sé si sea un poco apresurado, pero mirá, es para ti-".
nos reímos como unas pelotas y damos por terminada la noche.
"it's a long, it's a long, it's a long long night"
miércoles, 8 de marzo de 2006
radiobemba!radiobemba!radiobemba!
son casi las tres de la tarde, y estoy en un grado de morronga absurdo. dentro de una o dos horas van a llegar amigos a mi apartamento; tomaremos cerveza y fumaremos marihuana. de música habré puesto un concierto inédito que me regaló mi primo, de manu chao en mendoza... esta noche es de PATCHANKA!!!
para todos los que alcanzaron a comprar la boleta, antes que se acabaran, NOS VEMOS ALLÁ MORENO!!!
p.d. cambiando de tema, me ha ido muy bien con la audiencia de este blog. espero que no haya sido solamente suerte de principiante... CONCIERTO DE MANU CHAO MALDITA SEA!!! ME VOY A ENLOQUECER!!!
jueves, 2 de marzo de 2006
in nominus amici
como dije, marzo se presenta con una serie de... no sé ni cómo llamarlas, pero la primera está aquí: hace menos de un año uno de mis mejores amigos murió de un tumor en el cerebro. le dió de un momento a otro y se lo llevó en un término de dos años. hoy es el primer cumpleaños que pasamos sin él. paradójica o irónicamente (no sé bien cuál de las dos), el último año de su enfermedad nos unimos mucho. salimos a comer, fuimos a fincas, pasamos más tiempo juntos. me ví en situaciones tales como vestirlo o ayudarle a ir al baño, pues el tumor afectaba su motricidad, y a veces su memoria y otras actividades del pensamiento... en fin.
las personas lo llamaban por muchods nombres, todos de cariño. le decían lu, lucho, tobi o tobar. yo le decía negrito. bueno, pues negrito, me haces mucha falta hermano, hoy te pensaremos todos.
un abrazo.
las personas lo llamaban por muchods nombres, todos de cariño. le decían lu, lucho, tobi o tobar. yo le decía negrito. bueno, pues negrito, me haces mucha falta hermano, hoy te pensaremos todos.
un abrazo.
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