Falling in love with someone, who see the stars in the morning

It´s already midnight but i don´t want to go to bed. This day was a glorious day.  I mean , yesterday was already.  I take my time to hear summer love songs in winter days. That makes no sense. I´m falling in love with someone, who see the stars in the morning.  That makes no sense at all either. And now I´m here again trying to hear the same last song that my cd-player can´t reproduce.  I try and I try again and again and suddenly the afternoon is not more afternoon, again. The cd is broken since the last spring and I can´t notice that.

It was a nice day in autumn and I tried to write a poem for her, but I just wrote these lines lying below:

I called my friend,  the one can understand a little German, and I said to him ” I wrote this lines but I don´t remember nothing about German right now, could you translate it for me? Please, mate. I can´t do this alone”.

Ok, now I see. You saw her when you arrived in the subway and from the distance you starting to smile at her effusively, am I right? Then you both kissed like a good friends, even when you felt the kisses like cupid´s arrows. You can stop me every time you wish and  make some corrections. Ok. Then you had an amazing evening with her and you felt her so close to you. So close that you could even heard the way she breathes. Oh, come on! Did you really hear that? Ok, we have to correct that sentence. Right. She sit beside you, and you touched her foot fingers indecently. That was embarrassing for both, but  it was also a nice innocent approach, a warm approach. Nothing about this could go in the wrong way, love supposes to go always in the right way. Thank you for the sun , the one that shines on everyone who feels love. Oh yes, I know. I just tried to get a smile from you remembering a song from Oasis, because I know that you love Oasis. But, maybe this one was not the right one, I know. But, let see.  Now you can continue as you wish.

I say goodbye to her with all my soul. I kissed her with more energy that the first time. This one was the first goodbye with two kisses on her. I will remember this day forever. I promised myself not to have more grey days. I cried loud and went home. In fact, I didn´t cry at all and I just wanted to turn, see her again, smile her and wave goodbye. But I didn´t and I just went home with the best posture I could make. Maybe she will read my poem one day.

Hey, my dear readers, did you see what happened here? That´s how people make his own history. That´s how you could try to preserve the feeling of love and maybe one time in the future to speak about it with your grandchild. That´s how people live in a perfect world with the person who love till the end. But that´s how people can´t grow up.  Don´t you think? And unfortunately Morrisey didn´t write a song about that. At least not yet.

An Interview (Part I).

Interview by Cassandra Dolores.  

Vienna 23.12.2014. 

An Interview in the waiting for Christmas it´s not very usual, but here we are!  Only one day to Christmas evening and Gabino stays alone in his home and accepted to be interviewed by us. Since a couple months, I was searching for an opportunity to meet him and make a couple a questions, that our public is waiting for. Repeatedly he has refused our demands to have an approach to him, but finally and suddenly at this morning i received a call for him: “I don´t have any particular plans before Christmas, so go ahead and come by to my place in the morning”. And so we´re here for the first time in his place, in his “little gloomy, spurious and home place”, like himself describes it.  At the begging, I´ll try to be cautions, but then we'll see, where the conversation head us.

Me: Hi, Gabino, or should i pronounce it  like “Gavino”?

Gabino L Martello: Well, man. I don´t care any more about it. I mean, I really feel connected with  my , so speak, “Italian roots”, but in reality is more like a organic thing, you know. I was raised in Mexico-City with my lovely parents, some working class, some middle class family and my first language was always Spanish and always it will be my first language. The Italian thing, like I said, is more a organic thing. It just a feeling that you know is there, living in some corner of your life, but it doesn´t exist really.  It´s that feeling that I always had , already as kind, to search something in the fog , some mysterious thing that is behind the tree. You can feel it, you can hear it, but you can´t see it and of course, you can´t speak  with him. So, I don´t care, if you call me "gavino”, at the end, you know, it´s just a name and it´s not what it´s behind the words.

Me: All right! So maybe I´ll call you Gavino for this time, because we´re now - I’m feeling-  entering in that fog of your life (laughs).  So, please tell me, what is all about this writing , all this blogs that you sometimes keep “in secret”, but , you know all the information is in Google and eventually the people get into it.

G:  hahaha, Google tells the truth, isn´t it? It´s amazing, it´s terrifying!  The last couple weeks I was searching for a winter jacket and made the mistake to press “I like it”. Now, I always see this fuckin` jacket in every search or whatever in my computer. It´s just nuts. Secret agents everywhere, but you can´t stay out of there, can you? I mean, is some of that. I should keep my texts for myself the whole time. Don´t share them, because, you know, they´re crap, man. Sometimes  I can laugh out loud with them. Sometimes I can remember the process of writing of that moment, but you know, they are just words that they´re always fighting each other. Sometimes come some persons in there, sometimes just feelings, sometimes dreams, fantasy or tales of friends of mine, I mean, a translation of their experiences.  I began with all this stuff of blogging like four, or six years ago?, and I just write in them in certain months, periods of the year.  For me is like a workshop, you know. Or is like a bullfighting to die, if you want to put it so.  That stupid duel, that massacre, where people pay to see the blood and all that horrible spectacle. Well, at least I don´t get any money of this spectacle (laughs). The bull is like the words and I supposed to be the bullfighter, who attempt to dominate them. I can stay there like 4 seconds, 8 seconds on the bullfighting. I can scape sometimes of that furious bull and eventually one of both has to die. Sometimes the bullfighter is the winner and he retires like a hero, sometimes is the bull really the winner.  But In the end, you know that it´s a horrible spectacle , that we´re sharing with everyone.

M: Come on, that`s a little bit exaggerated? Don´t you think? I mean, I read some histories from your first blogs and i find them very interesting, not always in that agressive tone, that bullfighting that you`re  now describing.

G:  Well, the thing is, that my whole life I wrote texts. I began with 10 years or something and unfortunately , I think,  in that age I wrote the best texts already of my life. They were just natural, simple like a childhood life, you know. But now, every time it´s more complicated. More and more, because I can´t even describe a simple emotion without the need of giving a simple context. A story should be more lineal sometimes.  I don´t know why are they these days so complicated. 

Ups (my laundry! ) I forget them. Please wait for me like 20 minutes. You can drink some tee in the meanwhile.

(Then he goes out of the room). 

El viaje.

Cuando finalmente llegué, ella estaba durmiendo recargada en su cómodo sofá. Los utensilios de limpieza estaban regados por toda la sala. Ella todavía estaba vestida en pijama y llevaba una playera de color crema que combinaba perfectamente con su rostro pálido y cansado. Mi llegada fue abrupta y torpe, como lo fue mi llegada a su vida hace ya casi tres meses, ahora que lo pienso bien.  Llevaba una gran maleta con mi tabla para esquiar a lado.  Al llegar a su puerta dejé caer mi equipaje en la entrada, no recuerdo si fue por una simple falta de delicadeza o porque quería despertarla y sorprenderla. Dio un salto y sus ojos se abrieron con la hermosura de siempre. Corrí a abrazarla y a besarla.  No pude resistirme a besar sus brazos también que desde la primera vez que los vi  me atraían con locura. La escena comienza a perderse entre lo claro de su playera, de su rostro y el temor.

Wake... from your sleep. The drying of your tears. Today we escape, we escape.

Pack… and get dressed. Before your father hears us. Before all hell breaks loose. 

Eines Tages.

Eines Tages werde ich ihr das schönste Gedicht schreiben.

Eines Tages werde ich mit ihr die leckereste Sachetorte essen.
Eines Tages werde ich einen Scherz machen, um ihr Lächeln zu fotografieren.

Eines Tages wird der blaue Himmel lila verändern und unsere wärmen Trännen werden uns mit einer frohen Melancholie decken.

Eines Tages wird die Stunde länger sein, damit Gott Zeit haben wird, meine Träume in Wirklichkeit zu erfüllen.

Eines Tages wird die schöne Dame meine Geschichten vergessen und mein Gesicht radieren.

                                                                                                                           aber heute gar ned.

Einen Kaffe haben wir getrunken.

Die Demos von meinem Lieblingsband spielen schon und versuche die Geschichte weiter zu schreiben. Der erste Song bringt Wörter wie die Sonne, und die Sonne könnte ihr schönes Haar sein, aber gleich lösche ich diese Idee von meinem Kopf. Eine Katastophe! Wenn man an ihre Geliebte denkt, sollte man nicht mit diesen kitschen Adjketiven vermeiden. Ich würde besser ihr Foto einfach beschreiben. Ein Foto von ihr stand oben, bevor ich  Play gedrückt habe. Aber sollte die Beschreibung mit dem Inneren oder mit dem Aussehen begonnen werden? Beide glänzen um meinen geschlossenen Augen herum. Es ist doch schwer jemanden auch zu beschreiben! Sie trägt einen schönen öffenen gelben Pullover, der so ähnliche wie das Weichen ihrer Haut ist. Na gut, siehst du das? Es ist einfach doof, jemanden zu beschreiben. Jemanden, den du wie ein Teenanger liebst.  Ihr Lächeln ist eine vollendete Symmethrie, die mit ihren Augen so intensiv scheinen. Unglaublich, denke ich noch einmal, weil ich es wieder gleich gemacht habe!

Am Abend habe ich mich den Anzug probiert. Er passt nicht su gut zu mir. Es sollte nur ein schönes Abendessen, nur das. Der Ärmel ist kürzer geworden, wie könnte das sogar möglich sein? Ihr Hand wird meinen berühren. Nein, das wird nicht passieren. Ich sollte mir vielleicht einen anderen Anzug kaufen, doch der Anzug wird nicht das echte Problem sein.

                                                                          Der ewige Weg ins Nichts.

Wie Knebworth 1996, tausende Leuten mitsingen oder einfach ohne Rythmus schreien. Ich lege das CD in meiner leeren Wohnung. Immer und immer denke, ob ich ein plausibles Signal geben sollte. Das geht nicht.

Wir haben gestern einen Kaffe in einem Kaffehaus getrunken. Wir haben lang und  breit geredet. Zwischen einer Geschichte und der anderen gaben süssen Lächeln.  Da und da habe ich einen anderen Teil von ihrem Leben kennen gelernt, aber von meinen Träumen, die irgendwann in ihrer Tür laut geklopt werden, habe ich nicht gesprochen. 

Ich war eine halbe Stunde im Bad gesperrt. Ich bin bereit. Ich habe mein bestes Gesicht im Spiegel gezeichnet. Ich gehe ins Kaffehaus jetzt. 

"Your eyes, your hair and your lips".

I want to see you, i want that you find me again. 

Across the Konstanziagasse in 22, District in Vienna, i stopped to walk and then i heard one song. 

Sometimes i just see your lips and you see my lips... and your eyes, your beautiful eyes. 

Last week i found myself alone in that garden where we saw with our group that film. Another film from mirrors. Then you passed over me and you touched your eyes with your reflection in the windows. You know how beautiful are, don´t you? Wouldn't it be a big surprise. Your smile is like your golden hair, like your golden heart. And so on and so on. He writes the whole night all that boony words for her. He thinks, he will be again in the U4, the green one. Of course, in the way to her, but you know already that, isn't it? Every day, he discovers more from her and she from him. Some scenes are like a sweet dream between two strangers that in some way they feel like a good friends. Maybe he is now crazy for her. He always lost his mind between the last paragraph and the next line. In that interlude appears she again, and she smiles at him. Is that truth? Or what can you say about that, good boy? It´s a little bit exaggerated, don´t you think? Well, i just want to keep the feeling inside, i just want to keep her in my mind. Is that so much to ask? I am human and everyone needs to be loved by someone. Everyone wants to share something with someone. Now the heaven is waiting. Yes, that is the song I was hearing before. Before or after tonight when I´ll dreaming of her wishing to keep this dream alive. I ask myself, if one day that song will be played for us. It´s just 10:41 pm, but he´s  dead tired now, but he doesn't want to go to bed. Indeed. Today was a lovely day and for that reason , I understand how joyful is he now and the excitement doesn’t go slower. He tries to write that, he tries to describe me the whole situation. Every word, every gesture. It´s strange, isn’t? Or what are you thinking now? Is this taking up too much of your precious time? Maybe you´re disappointed, because we are talking without any direction, again. He was the man that repeated that.

Well, I have to tell you the truth. I could be the happiest man, if only she could think of me for a couple seconds in this moment. And you?

Her eyes, her hair, her lips. I can´t just get them out on my mind. Oh, she is just beautiful. 

Zwei Leben im Dezember.

es ist das Gefühl, dass ich ein neues Leben endlich erreichen werde.
es ist das Gefühl, dass die Nacht in Wien um zwei Uhr intensiv scheint.
es ist das Gefühl, dass die Wiener mich mit Pausen aber auch mit Lächeln warm anziehen.
es ist das Gefühl, dass ich im Winter nach Hause nicht wieder zurückkommen werde.
es ist das Gefühl, dass ich auf Deutsch zu empfinden und auch auf Wienerisch zu lachen beginne.
es ist das Gefühl, dass ich unter Schnee meinen Platz finden werde, decken werde.
es ist das Gefühl, dass ich sie am Wochenende wieder treffen werde und mich am Karlplatz verlieben werde.
es ist das Gefühl, dass ich ein Säckel gefunden habe, wo ich ihre Geschichte verstecken werde.
es ist das Gefühl
                              und es ist auch ein glückliches Leben im Dezember . Oder vielleicht zwei.

Tricks and talks

She tricks herself, but they don’t care about it. It was the best evening for him, a smile, a gaze between them, a sigh. He remembers the night as follows: "I received a call for her in the morning. I was between dreaming and waking up in that morning of Sunday like always. I felt her smile at me and she was at the telephone enthusiast as never before. Unlike there wasn't a lot of "before". My response was automatic, because, i knew i wanted to go with her. This is not supposed to be a masterpiece, a masterpiece. I remember now Gertrude Stein and stopped to write that history for my lover. But “it´s nothing as it seems”. I don’t even know, where this story begins or ends.  

                                                                                                           Now i remember everything. Me sitting in front of her in a dark room and sharing my life for the first time on this month. And then she started to talk, she invited to me to her world and her fears from the past. I couldn’t resist. Maybe i trick myself instead of her. Maybe he tricks himself instead of you. Because you´re reading this thing hoping that i can, she can or he could take you to another world. The truth is, this is not more than words without directions and we are just writing without senses. A kiss that i enjoyed with all my soul, a kiss to come, a kiss to forget in the future. Should be, it should´t be.

That night again.

Over over and over i return to that night when everything was perfect.
Over over and over i wish to create a new history to remember another time in the future.

Im here and im there, like the words that are passing from the past to the future without meanings at                  all.

You was there and you decided to ignore me.


Now im wide awake and im still thinking what kind of words should i try to recognize
                                            and                         (then)                       to make them mine.


Over and over again.