girlontape: 11.07

esperando que baje el sol

playing with my fake fur & other accessories while waiting for the sun to go down...

Los personajes de cine con los que más me identifico:

• Julian, Hijos del hombre: la guerrillera humanista

• Lucia Atherton, El Portero de noche: la esclava de un amor transgresivo y fatal

• Michael Corleone: el siciliano que nunca olvida ni perdona

• Emma Bovary, versión Chabrol: la über fashion victim

Movie characters I most identify with:

• Julian, Children of Men: the humanist freedom fighter

• Lucia Atherton, The Night Porter: the slave to a fatal, transgressive love

• Michael Corleone: the Sicilian who never forgives or forgets

• Emma Bovary in Chabrol's version: the fashion victim who puts all other fashion victims to shame

the catherine chronicles

Todo por un porro

Acá al lado, mi preciosa amiga Catherine en toda su gloria. Con Cath solíamos ir al Spa, mi boliche preferido de los miércoles donde Paul Sevigny pinchaba su mágica mezcla ultra rockera. Una vez llegamos temprano y estaba tocando una banda. Como tenemos gustos opuestos - Cath odia el metal, ama la marijuana - me dejo arrastrar hacia un pasillo donde ella arma dos porros. Uno, sin que me de cuenta, se lo pone atrás de la oreja, el otro lo fumamos. El recital sigue a full. Yo me muero para ir a ver de qué se trata pero Cath no quiere aventurarse hacia el escenario. Gana la lealtad hacia mi amiga así que aprendo un cigarrillo a la espera del dancing. Llega una chica del security y nos dice: ladies acá no pueden fumar porro. Nosotras: pero si es un cigarrillo. Ella: bombona ¿y que tenés atrás de la oreja? Nos da dos opciones: tirarlo al inodoro, o salir y volver. Bastante enojada, sigo a la boluda de mi amiga hacia la salida. La banda acaba de terminar. Veo un montón de gente disfrazada de Gene Simmons. Le pregunto al chico en la puerta: ¿Quién tocó? El me mira como si fuera una marciana. Contesta: Uhmm…Kiss!!?! Catherine, ese día te quise matar. Pero quién nos quita lo bailado…el porro estuvo rico y la noche fue, por supuesto, totally crazysexycool.

All for a Joint

In this picture, my friend Catherine in all her glory. Cath and I used to go dancing at Spa, my favorite Wednesday night club where DJ Paul Sevigny regaled us with his magical mix of vintage rock n roll. One night we got there early, and a band was playing. As we have opposite tastes – Cath hates metal, loves grass – I let her drag me off to a secluded corner, where she rolls a couple of joints. One she sticks behind her ear, the other we smoke. The concert is going full blast and I’m dying to check it out, but Cath has no desire to fight her way through the headbanging masses. Loyalty to my girlfriend wins out, so I light a fag while waiting for the dancing to start. This chick from security comes up to us. "Ladies you can’t smoke no pot in here," she says. "What do you mean?" I say. "This is just a cigarette." "Uh-huh. And what’s that behind your ear?" We were so blitzed we forgot all about that small detail. Out of the goodness of her heart she gives us two choices: a) flush it down the toilet or b) leave and come back later. Pretty disgruntled, I follow my stoner girlfiend to the exit. The concert has just ended, and I notice all these kids running around in full Gene Simmons stage make-up. I ask the doorman: "Who just played?" He stares at me like I’m the world’s biggest moron. "Uhmm…KISS?!?" Catherine, I could have strangled you that time. But why deny it: your weed was wicked, and the night that had just begun turned out to be, of course, totally crazysexycool.

soy una vampiresa

Hoy, por fin, logro salir a la calle a eso de las 10am. La luz me ciega a través de mis lentes oscuras. Tomo refugio cuanto antes en mi bar de la esquina, donde me hundo en una revista llena de consejos de aplastante mezquinidad sobre cómo atrapar un novio, cómo coger, y cuales feísimos zapatos están de moda. Me doy cuenta de que disfrutaría de esta sórdida chatarra más aún si estuviera escondida en mi baticueva. O, como mucho, podría buscar asilo en el local de Pablo Ramírez, donde todo es luxe, calme et volupté. Pero siento que estoy desapareciendo. Huyo a casa tratando de caminar en la sombra. Permanezco puertas adentro hasta que baja el sol. Sólo me queda decirle a mi superego, que sigue retándome con que mi pasión por la vida nocturna es algo innatural, en las palabras del rey al demagogo: ¿Por qué no te callas?

I'm a Vampire

Today, at last, I manage to make it to the street around 10am. The light blinds me in spite of my Blindes. I take shelter asap in my corner café, where I dive into a women’s magazine replete with crushingly mean-spirited advice on how to trap a boyfriend, how to fuck, and what incredibly ugly shoes are supposed to be fashionable right now. I realize I would enjoy this sordid junk even more were I still safely hidden in my batcave. I ponder the possibility of seeking asylum in the only other place I could bear right now: Pablo Ramírez's boutique...that pristine temple of luxury, beauty and serenity. But the prospect of fighting traffic all the way to San Telmo strangles this weak impulse at birth. I flee back to my house, trying to keep in the shade. I stay indoors until the sun goes down. And all I can do is tell my superego, which keeps bitching about my unnatural passion for the nightlife, in the king of Spain's recent words to the Venezuelan demagogue: Why don’t you shut up??

anoche en tres tomas/last night in three frames

another goddess is born/nació otra diosa

Making pictures is a kind of touching someone...a form of tenderness.

Hacer fotos es una suerte de tocar a alguien. Una forma de ternura.

Nan Goldin

gay pride

Lovers
Rock forever
They never stop
Lovers rock

Superpitcher

my miu miu bag makes me violently happy

Et pourquoi m’arrêter aux choses permanentes, tandis que les goûts fugitifs d’un seul jour devenaient pour moi autant de passions violentes?

Why stop at permanent things, when the fugitive pleasures of a single day turned into as many violent passions?

Para qué fijarme en las cosas permanentes, cuando los placeres fugaces de un solo día se convertían en pasiones violentas…

Rousseau, Les Pensées

(il faut absolument que je te voie après)
you look like a harlot
someone I can’t have
chicks like you give us a good name
use your body for the fame game

miss kittin

In the end, you have to make your own fairytale.

D. Sforza

In the music
Say the word 
Diamond memories
Go with the flow

Felix da Housecat

le rayon vert/the green ray

Last night, fabulous party in Palermo: the girls swooned over Red Mega Tone lead singer as he rocked the house in my grandma's astrakhan jacket while the boys drooled over this new Brit invasion band's fetching lead accordionist. Alan tried unsuccessfully to get Greg drunk on gancia batidos while I got lost in our hosts' endless, flawlessly appointed mansion searching for a bathroom with a mirror. I eventually found one with a weird red doll. Was she smiling at me, or was she smiling just because? Meanwhile the cool & groovy actress DJ took us higher and higher, but the cherry on top had to be that wicked green laser snaking all over the dance floor.

cecilia, tan altiva y tan sensible,
tan diva y tan de nadie como yo
mi gozo, mi veneno,
mi pasión...rayito de sombra,
gatito de alfombra,
palermo y gran vía
mi sueño, mi vigilia,
mi adicción...cecilia

fito paez