Moments like this

With all the mind-thrillers going on in Hollywood, there is one new movie about time travelling to be made: that of people going back in time but to the past of their memories, which most likely will be different from the actual past. It shall exist then as many temporal lines as people and shall be extreme: the best and the worst. Only two colors exist in our memories, black and white, doesn't it?

I recalled today while having dinner Ramiro Pinilla's novel Las ciegas hormigas. It was the first novel of the non-writer Basque in the 60s. Set in Getxo, Bilbao. The terrible story of miserable and envious people, the  resilience and determination of a family man, the lost of a child, the blinding hunger, the little girl feeding the kittens from her titties. Pinilla tells in the prologue that one night, when his wife was preparing the dinner and the children play around the house, he finished the novel. He then calls up his little girl and asked her to press the final dot on the typewriter. Oh!

I wish my life where full of sweet, tender moments like this.... And shoot my own movie.

Oh, those lovely afternoons, class-skipped, of two infatuated lovers, loving each other free of the disease of sex-love, platonic, expanding all through the evening. "Oh, darling, play with my hair". The dim light, the warm and fluffy bed, the confident and cozy blanket and the whole of a girl for a boy, the entire boy for a girl. A pair of unboiled kids, unaware and unwarned of themselves, day-dreaming immatures. And the night comes upon, and the songs of Silvio Rodriguez, and the poems of Cortazar or Benedetti, or perhaps Nazim Hikmet or the fearful Mayakovsky, and the sad verses and love letters of Neruda. "I need to buy groceries, will you come with me?". And, sometimes, the drumming of the rain on the window panes and the rumor of his constant company; the smell of burning incense, the faithful shirts of youth, the humming of the washing machine in the kitchen, the sudden screech of the hang-out ropes, echoing away the courtyard, the food crackling in someone else's kitchen... A step aside the worldly, painful days; the heart well into the magical nights, the endless happy nights.

Plenty of moments like this for my movie and my Paradise.

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