About Festivals and Other Witticisms
a poem by Daniel de Culla
My mother already told me:
-Son, nowhere dogs are tied with sausage.
But me, obstinately, had to go out of my land, travel the World. A World that, for me, was always flat.
-I’m a poet, mother; and Poetry is my name. And I have to drink from other waters, because the path of Life is short, and my thirst for love and knowledge is very tight. That, here, in Madrid, mother, there is little to drag and much to lose.
-Well, son, be very careful, and call me. Behave like a gentleman, and see if you succeed in what I know you go to those festivals: "to reap that barley that the girls have between two columns that support their soul."
-Mother, I will earn a lot of money, and, although I know that the Girls' suture is worth a fortune, I will return one day and I will reward you.
My mother was really smart.
At about midnight, I went to the airport to catch a plane that would take me from here to there.
First, I was a witness of the Shoreline of Infinity. Event Horizon Science Fiction & Fantasy Special Festival "The Return", Edinburgh, Lothian, UK.
Another day, at The Hucknall Byron Festival, in Nottinghamshire, UK.
From England I went to Germany, dreaming of enjoying what I most wanted in the performances of the APA-B Association for Performance Arts in Berlin.
Oh, oh, oh. Sad and distressed, seeing that I was my own wife and, also, my dear, I flew to Australia, in order to live its extraordinary festivals at the Byron Bay: "Byron Comedy Fest", and "Byron Writers Festival".
Drinking, dancing and singing, I hurt my feet and my ribs hurt. I grabbed a table in a coffee bar, and broke my head from dreams.
- Madam, what are you looking at me? What are you looking at me?
The time I spent in both Festival, I was not attentive to the Verse or the musical note. Just, I just looked at those pretty faces that had a sex to dip bread.
When the act was over, my illusion was over, leaving the sap of my bones lifeless and heartless, because I ended up loving myself, following the Onan’s footsteps.
I did not eat a thread at such a festival. I followed the steps of the girls, to see where he put it, and when he reached his portal, he always told them that I was cuming. So, they didn't answer anything to me, and they left me.
By the way, one day that I was badly dancing a tango with a great girl, in Byron Bay, Australia, I remembered the definition of the Tango that my friend Jesus did. It is: “Tango is like playing Teto: We dance; She lifts her leg, and I go into her. ”
I wanted to fall in love, but I was expelled by indecent from the Tango’s Festival.
Very sad and heartbroken, after spending three years, almost four years, I returned to Madrid and, on the plane back home, to my own goldfinch my sorrows I told him:
-Goldfinch, goldfinch, what do you have to tell me, for a woman I love and look for and I can't get her in it.
The goldfinch replied:
- To the woman you have to treat with sweetness and firmness; and with sincere kisses you will soften its hardness.
Already in Madrid, I followed in her footsteps, as the goldfinch said; and, after all, I achieved much more than I thought.
With my beloved, my "half orange", I moved to Burgos.
Here, at the SanFran Mary Jane, a music bar, at “Asphalt Poetry” or “Brick Music” festivals, from time to time, I participate, dreaming with attending, one day, the Palm Beach Poetry Festival, Lake Worth, Florida, USA .
This site, the SanFran Mary Jeane, is a cool place, because, in addition to the festivals, if you ask to eat, they give you salty sardines, and if you ask to drink they give you broom water.