Barney Platts-Mills. “Bronco Bullfrog”. 1969
“… Into this juvenile apocalypse our golden blood to pour let us never”
“… But there is really nothing, nothing we can do
Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew
The models will have children, we'll get a divorce
We'll find some more models, everything must run its course
We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end
We were fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend…”
Resulta difícil de asumir la dejadez (sin ápice de coartada existencialista, faltaría más), la laxitud, la vagancia de cierta “joven”-bisoña-clase-media desafectada de todo, pero acostumbrada a todo.
La calma acomodaticia de una respiración procrastinadora, del lapsus del pensamiento debilitado. Joven promesa, vieja decepción.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario