and mind a lullaby (reprise)

h, i could use some rest.
sure, b, just whisper one of your songs... it makes the night milder

a moving target

h, if you move is more difficult to aim at you... but if you move is also more difficult to aim at someone
some things are useful in one perspective, but completely foolish in another one. what bothers me the most is that sometimes you are doing one thing, and you still don't know if you are being wise or just playing fool, it will always depend... but this, of course, only when you can´t understand what you want to do, either to shoot or be shooted...

b, why would anyone like to be shooted? is better to move.
can we stop for some water?

better be judged by twelve than carried by six

here comes another desert storm, h

sky is turning dark grey and sand like olive green. water will be pouring in a while, and it’s better for us to find some shelter.

some years ago, I saw a man riding in a desert storm just like this one to start. his horse was a old one, but he was running wild. I couldn’t say if he was running on the wind direction or opposite, because the air moved like a tornado near me when he passed by.

after some two minutes, seven people were riding, also in a wild speed, in the same direction the man that has just passed me by. seven people but eight horses. the lonely horse was riding free with some blood on his neck. i could see it was blood because of the reflection of the rain drawing in it.

but that lonely horse was ridding just following the other ones, and still had a riffle pending. someone was riding it before and had some kind of finale, i'm sure.

he was the last one trailing. he was black, shining black, like a piano. He look completely  mad running to trail the other ones.  he could't lost the pace of the other horses, but he look wounded.

i wanted to know what was that all about and i start riding in the same direction. when i arrived at the little village, i just ended up seeing the first man running (better trowing himself)  into the sheriff house and the seven ones trailing him starting riding on circles around the sheriff house. they shouted something inside, that i couldn't ear, but they looked quite raged. they walked away riding fast, and i still remeber the scared look of the people from the village looking at them going.

the lonely horse, however, stood there. shinning his black color and drinking some water drops remaining from the rain. 

he was finishing the storm

b, do you think I'm still shining?

going for the jugular

i want to tell you a story h, it's about something i saw when i was much younger, back in my homeland

it was one of that exhausting hot afternoons, when the sun is liquid. my old man was seated in a old wooden chair and i was laying on the floor, playing with the rusty yellow sand... he was smoking his pipe and probably thinking about some improvements he needed to do in the barn, to protect the animals from the lasting hot season.
then i heard my old man whispering me to stand still... he shouted with a whispering voice. i didn't move and i saw my father starring in the opposite direction i was facing. he gently placed the pipe in the sand without a sound and, like a ghost, he started with a feet after the other walking towards me.
when he passed close to me he lifted me with a sole hand. it was, until that moment, the most powerful move i ever saw a human doing. my child body was moved like if 8 horses, running wild, pushed me with a rope. he placed me in his shoulder and, again without a sound, started moving bacwards.
i didn't realize what was going on, but i was scared to that: i never saw my old man acting like that.
his sweat drops fall on my neck, and it was like small stones of ice... the sun wasn't liquid anymore. it was frozen
he than carried  me, very slowly - i was acting like a statue - to the entrance of our old house. then his body rotated and i could see, for the first time, the direction i wasn't facing since the beginning of this story.. there was a small rat in the dust that was, just like me, playing with the rusty yellow sand. only then could i focus my sight on something else... it was like the sand was moving, like if the wind was moving the sand in a line. the sand kept on moving really close to rat. than the rat felt on the floor and begun dancing with the sand.... but it wasn't a pleasant dance... it was like just the sand was paralyzing the small rat. then, from that line of sand a mouth opened and i heard i very silver sound. the dance stopped and the rat stood still, like a stone. my old man took me inside the house that same moment and i couldn't figure out how sand could dance with animals. i just remember the trembling voice of my old man shouting in silence, warning me never to distract myself when close to a snake... even if the snake looks like sand dancing

b, i really prefer when you tell me stories of people... we both know you don't have a clue about animals

   

the optimist

i love to play tricks, h. it's funny to watch other people reaction when they are not expecting what you're doing or saying. it's like taking people to a funeral and then start a party with can can dancers and mandolins.
people often don't like to be surprised this way... one is more used to accept surprises when the result is better that the expected, not the opposite way around. when the outcome is worst people don't call it a surprise... they often call it a disappointment, but it is a surprise just the same.
for me both are surprises. you just don't expect what you're having in the moment and, if you are brave enough to like surprises, you must be prepared to take both...
other thing i also like h, is to say yes and wave no with my head...

b, you just don't stop surprising me!
really h? for good or for bad?
you just surprise me b. you should like both answers the same way

sleepwalking.... and other modern tales

"h, last night, when i woke up, i was at a different place from where i started my sleep
could it be that i walked during my sleep?
i just don't know what happened. i could feel the first instants of sleep, in a melting conscience, but then, all of a sudden, i just didn't recognize nothing else. i have some explanations on my mind, rather than just a sleepwalking. someone took me here (or there, i still can't tell). it was a woman, with a painted face and with a liquid silhouette. she carried me, or made me follow her. but one thing was sure: it wasn't my initiative. it was a burden she made me carry. but i couldn't avoid moving. i wanted to see her face and recognize her, but the paint on (or of, i still can't tell) her face didn't stop moving and her face seem to change from one person to the other. and i seem tor recognize all of those faces... so i wasn't sleepwalking, i was just..."

b, wake up!!! and please shut up, please. stop talking while you're sleeping
you are dreaming about painted faces again and you're still in the same place

 

chase (hq)

 h, once a marshal entered my room chasing me!
i was sleeping and couldn't  figure what was happening
i just had time to have a sip of water and run.... honestly i can't tell you what i was running from...neither i can tell you if the marshal was chasing me. but what can a marshal do if he's breaking your door. in fact the door was probably open. but what can a marshal be doing entering your home at that time in the morning. i can tell you it was a morning. it was morning, all right...
that day i speed it up. i was running like a southern wind. that was the last time i saw that place... and also the last time i saw that marshal.

well.... i thought it was a marshal, but it could just be my landlord with a hat. i still don't know why i run that fast

b, nice dream. better you turn yourself in... or sleep again