Autumn Episode of Reading Words: Sunday, Nov. 25th

Sarchasm (n):
The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit
and the person who doesn't get it.

Hello Friends of Words,

The autumn episode of READING WORDS is coming soon, on Sunday, November 25th. That's the last Sunday of this month, at the regular time of 7:30 to 10pm at Vade Mecvm cafe.



Well, temperatures are kind of falling. And, colors are kind of changing. So, I guess autumn is kind of here. Come out, wander the streets of Osaka in this very walkable weather and bring some words to share. We're looking forward to seeing you transform the printed page from a visual to a sonic entity.

Oh, my darling, literacy

We hope everyone, both new and familiar, will be able to join us for the fall session of Reading Words.
Please come and feel free to mix, mingle and add your voice to the whole.

All are welcome
Come and feast your ears!!

And, this month there is a choice of Two Challenges:

1) Ghost Train
Instructions: You're on the train and you notice a famous or interesting dead person gets on. Tell us what happens after that. Does Virginia Wolfe sit down next to you and strike up a conversation? Does a trench-coated Napoleon squeeze into a crowded Midosuji train and proceed to grope school girls before trying to hit you up for English practice? You get the idea. Put on your imagination and join it with commuter culture.
(concept suggested by Charlotte Hamilton. Thanks, Charlotte.)

2) Refinition
Instructions: Take any word from the dictionary, alter it by
adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.
(suggested by Ralph Famularo)

Thanks also to Ralph for turning me on to the Washington Post's Mensa Invitational which runs a contest asking readers to submit Refinitions.

Some of their winners are:

1) Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time. 2) Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole. 4) Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly. 5) Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future. 6) Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid. 7) Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high. 9) Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late. 10) Hipatitis: Terminal coolness. 11) Osteopornosis: A degenerate diseases. (This one got extra credit.) 12) Karmegeddon: It's when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, and then the Earth explodes, and it's a serious bummer. 13) Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you. 15) Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly. 18) Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

And, for our dearly departed folks beyond the Kansai shores, you're welcome to send in challenge submissions which we'll read if time permits.


As well, The Book Swap will be happening this month. Bring books you've read and loved or hated, and pick up books that tickle your ticklish spots...all for free! Also, CDs, DVDs and other swap-worthy medias are welcome, so bring out those tired tunes, etc. for others to enjoy.

Also, remember you can read stuff and see pictures of very previous events on the Reading Words blog at: http://readingwordskansai.blogspot.com/
(Sorry, this remains almost terminally un-updated.)


And, please spread the word by forwarding this message to any and all. For more info, contact us here at this address readingwords(at)gmail(dot)com

Below are the event's details.

Hear you on Sunday November 25th!

Jerry Gordon
Reading Words

ps: If you don't want to be notified of such events, write us and we won't.



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WHEN: The last Sunday of August, November and February from 7:30 pm to 10ish.
Entry will begin at 7:30 and the reading will start shortly thereafter.

WHERE: The next event will be held on November 25th at cafe Vade Mecvm near Hommachi (see directions below)

WHAT: An Open Reading and a Book Swap
- The Reading itself will start just after 7:30 pm and run to roughly 10pm (with two short intermissions). Readers will get 7-10 minutes to read. People can read anything they like--poetry, short stories, excerpts of an original longer work or someone else's (please give credit accordingly). A sign-up sheet will be circulating for anyone interested in reading so come early to make sure you get on it if you want to read! If you are interested in using music as part of your reading, please email us as there are some special sound requirements.

- The Book Swap is a chance for people to bring books they would like to exchange for some new ones. You can try out new authors or genres risk free! The Book Swap will take place before, during and after the Readings so come early to get the books you want. We ask that any books you bring which are not taken return home with you as our groaning bookshelves are, well, groaning and can not take much more.

COST: 200 yen + one drink (no BYO, sorry). Cafe Vade Mecvm is graciously opening its doors after closing time so that Reading Words does not have to compete with bar noise or overhead music. The 200 yen will go to Vade Mecvm for these wonderful after-hour services.

Vade Mecvm offers wonderful coffees, teas, beer and wine and scrumptious western vegetarian, meaty and "something else" sandwiches on wholemeal bread as well as other foods to snack and munch on for Readers and Listeners alike!

www.vademecvm.com

Note: Vade Mecvm is non-smoking, but smoking outside is fine.

DIRECTIONS:
- Go to Hommachi Station on the Yotsubashi Subway Line (the blue line) and leave through exit 28. Walk in the direction of the IBM sign. You should be on the left side of the street and pass the IBM sign (if you are driving, you are on Yotsubashi-suji).
- Go past China Southern Airlines (left side). Go past Eneos Gas station and McDonalds (on the right side of the street). Go past the Utsubo Park entrance on your left. Go past OSTEC exhibition hall (look for the robot sculpture).
- Turn left at the intersection where the Century Building with the ground floor Family Mart is at (They're across the street diagonally)
- Walk up this street and stay on the left side. Go past the cross-street where the Kaneshige Stationary is on the far corner. Vade Mecvm is getting closer, just a half a block more on the left.
- Look for the black on white Vade Mecvm sign on the front of the building. It is next to a hallway that you enter to access the cafe. (There should also be a Reading Words sign out front) Go down the hallway to the back.

- It takes about 8 minutes to walk from the station to the cafe although it sounds like longer here!
- Vade Mecvm backs onto Utsubo park so if you are walking in the park you can come in the back way--sorry, don't have directions or landmarks for access from the park!


Please forward this email to anyone you think may be interested and if you need more info just send us a message!

Hear you on Sunday November 25th!

Jerry Gordon

Patrick Widdess (5.20.07)

From The Back Row

I'm a bad one,
sitting in the back row
tapping my feet, never pay attention.
I look a mess, empty head, mouth full of gum,
big cock scrawled across my face squirting Tippex cum.

I wasn't always bad.
I started with a good finish,
sturdy legs and noiseless joints.
But they beat me every day
thumped my head, kicked my butt,
threw rubbish in my gut.

I've got lines all over, not from age
but compass points, biros and magic maarker pens.
A roll call of lovers and losers,
doodles and dirty words.

I do know Pythagoras' law
and the dates of two world wars,
etched near my feet
by some hapless exam cheat.
With a chance I'd do better
but I'm stuck back here ignored.

Forever in the first grade,
I'll never graduate.
Always in detention
at least I'm never late.

I'm a bad one,
sitting in the back row
tapping my feet, never pay attention.
I look a mess, empty head, mouth full of gum,
big cock scrawled across my face squirting Tippex cum.

Charlotte Hamilton (5.20.07)

Furniture Monologue

When I was a young child there existed in my grandfather’s house a pair of chairs. These were placed either side of the long low sideboard and but for one small detail were identical. Even at an early age I recognised their uniqueness. I knew instinctively that there was something special about them, but without being able to say just what. I have an early memory of sitting, or rather wriggling and fidgeting as I tried to settle, my feet did not touch the floor and whatever else they were they were not comfortable for reasons that will be revealed.

These chairs are now in my parent’s home, separated from each other, due to lack of sufficient space to place them together, which I think is a great pity.

A few years ago, they made an appearance on the BBC Antique’s Road show, and for the first time my parents and I learnt a little of their origins. It is perhaps a failing on my part, that though they have been a source of fascination for more than half a century, I am unable to recall with a hundred percent accuracy all the minute details and intricacies of their design, just sufficient for you to conjure up, I hope, a picture in your minds eye.

I have altered the era, but the location remains the same.

Ghent 1540

Once I was a tree. Tall and straight, rooted in the soil of Ghent, part of the landscape, each year growIng stronger, reaching for the sky.

Breughalesque villagers made merry in my shade, bonnets and skirts swirling, ale flowing, dancing and feasting and young lovers made love beneath my spreading summer branches.

So I stood year upon year witness to the passing seasons.

My branches shook – a searing pain ripped through my very being, another, and another. My strength ebbing with every blow.

Felled….stripped…abandoned. Seasons changed.

Summer breezes fluttered over my nakedness. Winter snow chilled me to the core. Seasons changed. The essence of my being, my chi, my life force fading with each setting of the sun.

Though old and wizened, I sensed the strength in his hands. A powerful energy, tangible, stirred something from deep within my core. A slow resinous tear oozed and trickled, as if in gratitude, coursing down my nakedness, halted by his outstretched finger. Tenderly he wiped it away. My saviour.

The fire crackled, filling the room with warmth and the fragrance of distant pine forests. Between the firelight and the meagre light from the candle, he poured over his drawings, spread across the table. ‘Morgen wij begin.’ He murmured, his voice thick and low.

The days lengthened, but as the shape of his days remained unchanged so my shape began to change. From early morning till the setting of the sun he worked diligently, barely stopping to eat a hunk of bread and cheese and drink a tankard of ale.

My arms grew thick and strong, the grain, like veins, long and straight.

My legs bowed and bent, my back, broad , my seat, vacant, empty.

My rudimentary skeletal form, rude and rustic, plain and unpolished.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks became months, my metamorphosis continued. I was planed and sanded, carved and gouged, smoothed and polished. I belonged to no ‘school’, for my saviour, my creator was rich in original ideas that conformed to no particular aesthetic. Out of my plainness emerged an abundance of fantasy. I was both monstrous and delicate, conflicting contradictory elements, a vision of brooding Gothic horror.

As if in anticipation of the ample weight of the Burgers of Ghent that I would bear, my legs thrust squarely outward. I am multi talonted. Feet that are large and heavy end in wretched talons that curve like scimitars with malicious intent, they sink into the soft roundness of the orbs they clasp. I am a Renaissance prototype for the ball and claw designs of the future.

My staves writhe with an entanglement of leaves and vines, demonic faces, caught in the tracery, peer out, ears like bat wings, eyes, narrow, suspicious. I hear the soft hissing of their words as they whisper to each other. Malice crawls from between their evil lips.

The curve of my seat is wide and deep, an appropriate shape for the wide posteriors that will sit thereon in my future. Rich brown leather, cut and shaped is held in place with a row of bright, shiny domed tacks. The leather creaks and gives a little as it receives the weight of his rotund rump. He’s not a very big man, but heavy, like me short and squat. He plants his feet firmly apart and leans back, placing his arms over mine.

His arms are pale, never seeing much of the pale northern sun, yet powerful, ending with large hands and dexterous fingers. By contrast my arms are a rich brown, smooth where his are sinewy, but strong and solid. In place of hands, my arms end in large knobbly arthritic stumps – ugly – bony, they curl back on themselves, like some poor leper, or unfortunate amputee. I am stumped.

My arms flow into my back, with an upward curve ending in finely turned finials – dainty – delicate. A row or spindles like a horizontal spine dainty –delicate, spans across my back, in sharp contrast to my overall pedantic frame.

I am almost complete.

Above this row of spindles, into the centre of the uppermost part of my back, My creator has carved, maybe as a final act of vanity ,his likeness into an egg sized oval. It is him, but it’s the him of bygone years, before he became fat and rubicund. This face is thin, the face of an aesthete, intelligent eyes, long straight nose, smiling lips framed in a small pointed beard, no resemblance to the man of the moment. As a bas relief stands proud from its surround so does his mini portrait. It is so artfully placed as to be a reminder to whoever sits ensconced, regardless of age or build. There is an unreachable spot inaccessible to all but those with the most flexible of arms, midway between the shoulder blades. Lean back in me, and the beard of a young Meinheer Nicolaes van Zegherscappel of Ghent will hit the spot - the G spot.

Down the years I have been well cared for by a series of rich owners, as my patina, now honed to that of a shiny brown conker, straight from its prickly casing shows. At first I stood in the palace of Emperor Charles V of Habsburg, he carted me off to his villa next to the monastery in Yuste, in Spain after he abdicated. The warm Spanish sun filled me with a new contentment, even the whispering demons stayed quiet. He spent his last years there worshipping God, eating heavily, listening to music and dismantling and assembling old clocks. Monks from the monastery would visit, quaff wine, yet never unbend sufficiently to sit in me in anything but straight backed, as though I was a test of their monastic discipline.

To mention all my illustrious owners would be a tedious catalogue of name dropping, suffice to say I can number painters and musicians among those whose bottoms I have housed. My likeness has been captured by the great master himself (Rubens (1577 – 1640) I am an ideal subject, I have an infinite capacity for stillness, I do not fidget, like the sitters he paints.

Centuries past, the rhythm of my days unchanged, yet boredom was something I seldom experienced. Astonishing then as it might seem one fine day I was polished and packed, stowed and shipped, arriving unscathed, having found my sea legs a day out of port. I did not care for the rough hands of the men who handled me. Course, insensitive ruffians. I do not want to remember the details of what happened next. Instead I will recall a pleasanter memory. The day I was brought to the home of he who was to be my penultimate owner. Far removed from the low country, I was now in a land that I heard called the Black Country, though why or how this was so called I was never able to comprehend. Certainly the people who came to the house, were not black, they were as white and pale as my creator. There was plenty to amuse and interest. It appeared that my new owner was a man of some wealth who had a taste for the unusual. I soon adjusted to my new surroundings and soon fell into conversation with the sideboard, a construction of truly monumental proportions, its back, ornately carved with wild life flying and resting amidst an abundance of flora and fauna, surpassed the plate rail, laden with pewter plates and flagons, ended within inches of the ceiling. I recognized his uniqueness, never in all my existence and travels had I ever looked upon something so extraordinary.

Into this normally quiet and calm home, there bounced one day, a small girl, plaits flying. Her fingers tickled as they lightly moved over me, seeking out all the intricacies of my ornament. There was not an inch of me left untouched. This was no mere childish inquisitiveness; she examined me with a thoroughness I had never previously experienced save perhaps from my creator, but that was long ago. Finally satisfied that her examination was complete, she climbed in, wriggled, to left and right, then lent back. Mineheer’s beard did the trick and she was out of the chair in a flash. I heard her complaint as she sought refuge in the sideboard cupboard. She never failed to come to me whenever she visited.

More than half a century has passed since then. If the woman who was that little girl gets her wish, then my future is secure, but if the tide of decision is against her wish, then my future may be precarious, for he who may become my next owner, cares nothing for me. I never held the same fascination for him. He will sell me and spend the proceeds.

Until my next home is determined I stand four square on my robust feet, warmth from the radiator at my back seeps into my being bringing comfort in my old age. It is good to be warm. I have intermittent converse with the hall table opposite, a reproduction of the Jacobean period, (from the same home as myself- an aberration of taste I believe) nice, but lacks true breeding. I was born in the Age of the Carpenter, when furniture making bore the characteristics of the craftsman. I lived through the Ages of the Cabinet maker and much later the Age of the Designer. Now is the Age of the Flat Pack, I shiver to my very timbers when I consider what this might be, for I have had no experience of this , but have overheard things I would rather not contemplate.

I’ve lost count of the bottoms that have sat in me, none of them ever sat for long, declaring me to be uncomfortable, yet I held, still hold, a curious fascination for anyone who looks upon me.

By turns ugly, and refined

I am an enigma - an existentialist conundrum on legs.

Amanda Hare (5.20.07)

THANK YOU!

As this was my last Reading Words event before moving back to the wilds of Canada, I would like to say THANK YOU! to everyone who came out and made it a wonderful event to behold.

I would also like to thank the venues who have hosted us and especially Vade Mecvm for providing a permanent home to our willing and willful words!

Most of all, I would like to thank Jerry who I could not have done Reading Words without. His support has made this event a success and I thank him deeply for it.

Applause to you all!

NIHON
By Amanda Hare

Last blossoms floating
Amid scurrying people
Beauty Unnoticed


IDENTICAL TWINS
By Amanda Hare

Written for Reading Words challenge May 20/07: Write from the perspective of a piece of furniture


It’s been weeks-no, I think months since you came to me. You always go to my sister although I can’t see why. I mean, look at her, her skirt is so frayed and dirty it’s an embarrassment to be in the same room. Her left cheek has become so soiled that I wonder if she is trying to look like a street urchin.

And you. You cuddle up to that dirty cheek like a child to its disgusting blanket that it has dragged around through all kinds of filth and slime. Can’t you see how disgustingly dirty she’s become?

Look at her left arm too. Ugh! How can you stand to sit there like that, draped with your book over that arm which isn’t so much green anymore as it is gray. Doesn’t it smell? Doesn’t she smell? I think I can smell her even way over here on the other side of the room. That horrible spray you put on her only covers up the underlying stench of sweat and perfume and, and, food that you have ground into her fabric and foam. There’s something else though I can’t figure out. Her seat has become so warped to one side. It looks so – unsymmetrical! How can you stand it???

Oh heavens!

Don’t turn your face into her like that! No! Don’t! She’s probably infested with mites that are crawling all over your skin right now!

Ugh! Don’t wipe your tears on that wretched left cheek of hers! Why are you crying anyway? It’s that stupid book you are always looking at, isn’t it? I don’t understand why you insist on making yourself cry with those stupid things.

Why don’t you turn on that television thing in the corner? You always seem to find something to laugh about when you watch it. However, if I may suggest, you should come over and sit in me to watch it. I mean, my sister is in the sun over there and it gets into your eyes and makes it difficult to see the television.

Speaking of sun, look how faded my sister has become, sitting there in the sun—That’s it! That’s the other smell! Sunlight! She stinks of sunlight!

Hey! Where are you going? Come and sit in the corner over here, in the nice dark shade! Hey! Listen to me!

Wha-? Who’s laughing? Who is that giggling? Are you laughing at me? How dare you! I am the queen of this room!

Look at me – I am lovely and erect. The nap on my fabric is perfect and my colours are still rich and vibrant even after all these years.

I am not hard and crusty! My cushion is firm—not hard! I am still desirable, damn you!

READING WORDS - MAY 20TH, 2007

For the last few weeks, I have felt terribly wobbley. I think it's because of my leg. I'm sure it's coming loose again. I get that way, you know? It wasn't like I was that expensive to begin with. But I don't think I was assembled shoddily. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that. Pete followed the directions, step by step and I think he even bought a real screw driver just to put me together. He didn't just try to use his keys for me, which I saw him do with the towel holder. And, I appreciate that. I'm not complaining, but my leg is loose again, and so I'm wobbley. The cat doesn't help. When Pete is gone to work, the cat claws my loose leg. He thinks it's his or something. Varmit! And, the more he claws, the more it loosens. Pete doesn't see it. I mean he pays attention and sees the scratches, but he doesn't see how much leverage a cat the size of Gangsta Bangbang exerts when clawing. I mean, my joints aren't expensive joints, and that's why Pete doesn't put his feet up on me even when I sense he's tired or drunk. He's careful like that. I think he has good manners. But, I've heard him blame me for wobbling and I know he been thumbing through the Ikea catalogue. It feels heavy when he leaves it on me, and that's not because it so thick with decorating options for every lifestyle.

Hello Friends of Literacy,

The next READING WORDS is coming soon soon soon. Actually, sooner than usual. The next Reading Words will be on Sunday, May 20th. That's right. Not the last Sunday as usual. This month it's the third Sunday, but at the regular time of 7:30 to 10pm at Vade Mecvm cafe.

Also, Vade Mecvm has a new interior set-up, so you will be able to experience its cushy minimalism while enjoying their foods, drinks and greening view of spring as people of various accents stand and let the written word flow from their lips.

Oh, my darling, literacy


We hope everyone, both new and familiar, will be able to join us for the spring session of Reading Words.
Please come and add your voices, eyes and ideas to the mix.

All are welcome
Come and feast your ears!!



And, This Month's Challenge is: Furniture Monologue

Instructions: This month's challenge was inspired by Kent English and is basically to let a piece of furniture have its say. Look at the chair you're sitting on right now. What kind of tales does it have to tell? What are the complaints of that little round table at the Starbucks? What is the secret poetry your futon whispers when it's left out in the sun for airing? Imagine the rant of a deckchair on the Titanic, or of Paul Wolfowitz's throne of Golden Skulls, and write it down.

You get the idea.

And, for our dearly departed folks beyond the Kansai shores, you're welcome to send in challenge submissions which we'll read if time permits.


As well, The Book Swap will be happening. Bring books you've read and loved or hated, and pick up books that tickle your ticklish spots...all for free! Also, CDs, DVDs and other swap-worthy medias are welcome, so bring out those tired tunes, etc. for others to enjoy.

Also, remember you can read stuff and see pictures of very previous events on the Reading Words blog at: http://readingwordskansai.blogspot.com/
(Sorry we have been lazy in keeping it up. We'll try try try to do better.)


And, please spread the word by forwarding this message to any and all. For more info, contact us here at this address readingwords@gmail.com

Below are the event's details.

Hear you on Sunday May 20th!

Jerry Gordon and Amanda Hare
Reading Words

Kevin Keane (2.25.07)

Precipitation

I

shattered eyes weeping

under the fractured sky

shower of blood on

tanks lying askew

II

silence after the battle

no leaves to rustle

swallows deserted the elms

10,000 bodies embraced

by black rain

— by Kevin Keane





Consequences

next to the Nagoya

love hotel “The Hotel Stork”

a maternity clinic

— by Kevin Keane

Daniel Arrieta (2.25.07)

For the lips of an adulteress drip honey,
and her speech is smoother than oil;

but in the end she is bitter as gall,
sharp as a double-edged sword.

Proverbs 4

Cuando lo trasladaban en camilla hacia la sala de operaciones, Anselmo no podía dejar de recordar los versículos del libro de los Proverbios que tanto gustaban a su padre y que éste recitaba a sus hijos con frecuencia: “No hagas caso de la mujer perversa, pues miel destilan los labios de la extraña, su paladar es más suave que el aceite; pero al fin es amarga como el ajenjo, mordaz como espada de dos filos”.

Dos enfermeras lo escoltaban por el pasillo: una era vieja, arrugada y fea, con el rictus serio de la intransigencia; la otra, joven y guapa, lo trataba con una delicadeza de madre; ahora le estaba sonriendo y sus brillantes ojos negros eran como los de Penélope, grandes, líquidos, intensos.

La primera vez que vio a Penélope fue en mayo, hacía apenas un par de meses. Paseando por el Retiro, junto al estanque, Anselmo se paró a mirar a los patos, dejando que su imaginación volara a otros mundos, como solía hacer en sus solitarios momentos libres, cuando una chica joven se le acercó. No era especialmente bonita, pero había en sus ojos y en su forma de mirar algo que invitaba a enamorarse de ella al momento. Le contó que acababa de llegar a Madrid de Granada y que pasaría en la ciudad un tiempo indefinido, pero que todavía no conocía a nadie. Al principio Anselmo estuvo un poco a la defensiva, pues no era el tipo de hombre al que se acercaran las mujeres porque sí, pero la naturalidad de la chica y su acento granadino tan simpático y sensual al mismo tiempo, le hicieron olvidarse de sus inseguridades. Caminaron juntos, charlaron y acabaron compartiendo café con leche y bollos en una cafetería de la calle Mayor. Cuando llegó el momento de despedirse, Anselmo sintió que aquella tarde con la desconocida había sido la mejor en mucho tiempo, y le pidió que volvieran a encontrarse al día siguiente; ella pareció un poco confusa, pero enseguida accedió al nuevo encuentro. En aquella segunda cita, le habló de su marido, un salvaje marroquí con el que se había casado muy joven y que le daba palizas un día sí y otro también hasta que decidió escapar de él hacía ya dos años. Desde entonces él la buscaba de ciudad en ciudad para vengarse por haberlo abandonado, y ella vivía asustada cambiando constantemente de domicilio. Cuando Anselmo escuchó esto, su inicial reacción de sorpresa y miedo se convirtió en masculina y agresiva rabia, sintiendo algo dentro sí mismo que hacía mucho tiempo él ya creía muerto. Se propuso ayudar a su nueva dama desvalida, como en las literarias historias de caballeros andantes que tanto le gustaban, y así se lo hizo saber. Penélope, entonces, lo abrazó y le besó. Aquella noche hicieron el amor y durmieron abrazados hasta el mediodía. Inmediatamente, Penélope abandonó la pensión barata donde dormía y se trasladó a casa de Anselmo, un bonito apartamento en el barrio de Salamanca que había heredado de su madre. Durante dos semanas hicieron vida de casados, como cualquier pareja de enamorados y Anselmo no recordaba haber tenido un tiempo tan feliz en su vida.

Un día, a la vuelta de Anselmo del trabajo, encontró a Penélope temblando, acurrucada en un rincón del baño. La tranquilizó, la metió en la cama y le pidió que le contara qué ocurría. Penélope había recibido la llamada de una amiga. Su marido había sabido a través de un familiar dónde se encontraba y había jurado ir a buscarla y llevarla de vuelta consigo. Anselmo decidió actuar y le pidió el teléfono de esa amiga. No pensaba poner en peligro su vida o la de Penélope con nada arriesgado, pero tampoco podía permitir dejar escapar una felicidad que estaba tocando por momentos por primera vez en su vida. Tal vez haría uso de su poder económico para zanjar el asunto. Sí, puede que todo se arreglase con dinero. En definitiva, así funcionaba el mundo, ¿no? Y a nadie le amarga un dulce.

Habló con Amelia, la amiga común de Penélope y el marroquí, y le dijo que le comunicara al violento marido su propuesta: le daría 100.000 euros si desaparecía de la vida de Penélope para siempre. Anselmo entonces se sintió bien, un hombre de verdad, que asumía los problemas y las dificultades afrontándolos con seguridad. Ya no eran los tiempos del uso de la fuerza física del Capitán Alatriste ni del Madrid de capa y espada de las novelas que leía continuamente. Ahora estábamos en pleno siglo XXI, en una sociedad más o menos civilizada, y los problemas requerían problemas civilizados también.

Tan sólo una hora más tarde, Anselmo obtuvo una respuesta de Amelia: el marido había aceptado la oferta del dinero y prometía no volver a molestar a Penélope en su vida.

Anselmo se sintió tan exaltado que creía que se le saldría el corazón del pecho de lo fuerte que palpitaba. Fue a ver a Penélope, que dormía como un niño pequeño en posición fetal en la cama, le dio un beso en la frente y salió de casa en dirección al banco. En la sucursal se extrañaron un poco de la alta cantidad requerida sin aviso previo, pero al ser un banco de una zona rica, siempre tenían efectivo para esas ocasiones.

El marroquí lo había citado en la otra punta de Madrid a las cinco de la tarde y Anselmo hizo tiempo hasta esa hora paseando con su coche por el barrio obrero donde iban a encontrarse. Cuando llegó el momento, Anselmo se bajó de su coche y se dirigió con el maletín hacia el punto de encuentro. Allí había un hombre alto, de unos treinta años, bien vestido, de rasgos magrebíes, y semblante serio.

* Hola.
* ¿Anselmo?
* Sí. Soy yo –los dos hombres se quedaron mirándose fijamente a la cara durantes unos instantes-. Quiero que una cosa quede bien clara entre nosotros. No va a haber una segunda vez. Ésta es la última vez que Penélope o yo vamos a saber de ti. ¿Está claro?
* Sí –los ojos del marroquí seguían mirando desafiantes a Anselmo, pero el dinero parecía ejercer un poder inmenso.

Finalmente, Anselmo le pasó el maletín sin dejar de mirar al hombre que había destrozado la vida de la mujer que amaba. Sin despedirse, se giró y volvió a su coche. De vuelta a casa pensó en lo rápido que había sucedido todo: conocer a Penélope, enamorarse, vivir juntos, la aparición del marido, su intervención exitosa. La vida era así: las cosas pasaban de golpe, en muy poco tiempo, igual que las oportunidades, y había que agarrase a ellas como a un clavo ardiendo, a la felicidad.

Una hora más tarde Anselmo llegaba a casa. Estaba contento y se sentía satisfecho. Iba a despertar a Penélope y contarle que todo había terminado, que aquel hombre había desaparecido de su vida para siempre. Al principio ella reaccionaría incrédula pero acabaría tirándosele al cuello y llorando de alegría. Harían el amor como nunca y vivirían felices por mucho tiempo.

Cuando abrió la puerta de la casa con su llave, le pareció extraño que el cerrojo no estuviera echado, como siempre hacía Penélope cuando estaba dentro de casa. Él mismo había cerrado la puerta con llave, estaba seguro de ello, pero no le dio demasiada importancia: se sentía demasiado feliz.

Avanzó por el pasillo y cuando llegó al salón lo que vio le dejó sin respiración: estaba vacío. Se dirigió rápidamente a la habitación donde dormía Penélope. No había nada, absolutamente nada. La cocina, los otros cuartos, los armarios. La casa estaba completamente vacía: vacía de personas, de muebles, de cuadros, de ropa. No habían dejado nada, ni siquiera la comida. Anselmo tardó un rato en procesar la información y entenderlo todo. Se sentó en el suelo y se echó las manos a la cara. Lloró y lloró como un niño durante minutos.

Días más tarde, cuando comenzaba a superar psicológicamente lo ocurrido y los muebles nuevos le ayudaban a olvidar de vez en cuando lo sucedido, comenzó a sentir un fuerte dolor en los genitales. Era una sensación como si pequeñas cuchillas afiladas dentro de su cuerpo subieran desde los testículos hacia el abdomen y volvieran a bajar rítmicamente. El dolor se hizo insoportable y llamó a un taxi como pudo.

En la sala de urgencias del hospital, tras un doloroso análisis urológico le diagnosticaron sífilis americana complicada con un bloqueo de uretra. Debían operarle enseguida si no quería que la infección se extendiese a todo el aparato digestivo.

Ya en la sala de operaciones, el anestesista le había colocado una vía en el brazo para dormirlo y Anselmo notaba cómo iba gradualmente perdiendo la conciencia. Las últimas imágenes que vio con nitidez fueron unos ojos negros, intensos, líquidos, y volvió a recordar las palabras de su padre: “No hagas caso de la mujer perversa, puesssss miel dessssstiiiiiilaaaaa…”.

Colin Doyle (2.25.07)

Please navigate to this link to read the full version of Colin's short story on his blog at http://nagaijin.wordpress.com/2006/10/01/short-back-and-sides/

Patrick Widdess (2.25.07)

A blind man won't thank you for a looking glass.

Christmas brings a desktop diary,
personal organiser and a pocket diary in my stocking.
All for a gap year with too many gaps.


An old lady carries a phone with fifty kitsch
danglies.
I comment on the proliferation
and she presses a beady blue panther on me
to dress my own naked cell.


Two birthdays, a Christmas and Valentine's day
have each brought me a new wallet.
But I still have a pocketful of loose change and an
overdraft.


A kindly woman fills a cafe table with plaster
figurines
and bestows them on unwitting patrons.
After she's gone one remains in front of me.
A pale girl with a sweet smile, twirling an umbrella.

Ashok Saraf (2.25.07)

Inner Space


I try to enter

Your inner space

I read my words and

You listen

I sketch my visions that

You see

I cast music in notes

That you sing

I play rhythm and

You dance

But still , I do not get to

The inner space

All of that is still just an

Outer shell of your inner space

But then when I enter

Finally your inner space,

I find that,

It is not just similar to

My inner space..

But it is the Same inner space ,

That we share ,

Perhaps it is the same outer space where

There are no words and notes and visions and dance

That we are …


Ashok Saraf

Osaka 25 Feb 2007

Reading Words, Feb 25th, Sunday from 7:30pm

"A book is like a garden carried in the pocket."
Chinese Proverb
"Doubt is the beginning, not the end, of wisdom."
English Proverb
"A proverb is a mountain pounded into an arrowhead."
Monkiefeet

Hello Friends of Literacy,

The next READING WORDS is coming soon. We'll be gathering on Sunday, February 25th, from 7:30 to 10pm at Vade Mecvm cafe.

This month's reading will mark RW's one year anniversary. Last year RW functioned as a monthly (mostly) event, but in 2007 we are going to change into a seasonal happening, so this year Reading Words will be gathering on the last Sundays of February, May, August and November.

Also, Vade Mecvm has kindly agreed to serve as our welcoming home for this whole year, so you will be able to continue to taste their delicious foods, drinks and atmospheres while witnessing the magical act of people transforming words from paper into sound.

Oh, my darling, literacy

We hope everyone, both new and familiar, will be able to join us this month. Please come and add your voices, eyes and ideas to the mix.

All are welcome
Come and feast your ears!!

And, this Month's Challenge is: Proverb

Instruction: Find a proverb and write something inspired from it. Any form is fine: poetry, fiction, satire, dialogue, instruction manual, valentine, recipe, whatever. You can:

Reinforce the proverb
Explode the proverb
Mock the proverb
Morph the proverb
Dress the proverb up in rubber and interrogate it.

You get the idea.

Some proverb resources are:
http://www.quotationspage.com/quotes/Chinese_Proverb/
http://www.worldofquotes.com/index.php
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/English_proverbs

As well, The Book Swap will being happening. Bring books you've read and loved or hated, and pick up books that tickle your ticklish spots...all for free! Also, CDs, DVDs and other swap-worthy medias are welcome, so bring out those tired tunes, etc. for others to enjoy.

Also, remember you can read stuff and see pictures of previous events on the Reading Words blog at: http://readingwordskansai.blogspot.com/


And, please spread the word by forwarding this message to any and all. For more info, contact us here at this address ( readingwords[at-mark]gmail.com).

Below are the event's details.

Thanks again,

Jerry Gordon and Amanda Hare
Reading Words

ps: If you don't want to be notified of these events, write us and we won't.
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Vade Mecvm offers wonderful coffees, teas, beer and wine and scrumptious western vegetarian, meaty and "something else" sandwiches on wholemeal bread as well as other foods to snack and munch on for Readers and Listeners alike!

www.vademecvm.com

Note: Vade Mecvm is non-smoking, but smoking outside is fine.

DIRECTIONS:
- Go to Hommachi Station on the Yotsubashi Subway Line (the blue line) and leave through exit 28. Walk in the direction of the IBM sign. You should be on the left side of the street and pass the IBM sign (if you are driving, you are on Yotsubashi-suji).
- Go past China Southern Airlines (left side). Go past Eneos Gas station and McDonalds (on the right side of the street). Go past the Utsubo Park entrance on your left. Go past OSTEC exhibition hall (look for the robot sculpture).
- Turn left at the intersection where the Century Building with the ground floor Family Mart is at (They're across the street diagonally)
- Walk up this street and stay on the left side. Go past the cross-street where the Kaneshige Stationary is on the far corner. Vade Mecvm is getting closer, just a half a block more on the left.
- Look for the black on white Vade Mecvm sign on the front of the building. It is next to a hallway that you enter to access the cafe. (There should also be a Reading Words sign out front) Go down the hallway to the back.

- It takes about 8 minutes to walk from the station to the cafe although it sounds like longer here!
- Vade Mecvm backs onto Utsubo park so if you are walking in the park you can come in the back way--sorry, don't have directions or landmarks for access from the park!


Please forward this email to anyone you think may be interested and if you need more info just send us a message!

Hear you on Sunday February 25th!

Jerry Gordon and Amanda Hare
Reading Words

Finding Vade Mecvm

Map to Vade Mecvm cafe




Entrance to Vade Mecvm

Kevin Keane (11.26.06)

How to Control Time

first teach orchids to shrink to

their roots and petrified trees

to softly bow in the wind—

then calendars will ignite

and clocks ticking melt

hit absolute zero

on a moonless night

tape eyes and ears shut—

coffins will turn to cribs

and waterfalls cascade up hills

— by Kevin Keane

On Stage

old woman in a faded flower-print

dress jumps on the train yelling

singing with primal screaming

velocity─schizoid music of the

spheres

I wanted to clap or ask why she

sang her atonal chant of rage

but I quietly changed cars instead

─by Kevin Keane

Charity

standing in line on Broadway

strafed by sleet and cold

the patrons of the play silent and

stiff like icicles on eaves

I’m hoping Mother Courage

will rally us to face

the wind shear again

a man in a painter’s cap

and an old torn tux with tails,

his long beard down to his waist,

cries out “hey man, you got a quarter?”

“huh? oh sure─here”

he pockets it with a smile and

asks the short square man next to me─

“hey, get a job!” bounces back like hail

the one in the tux drags the man

by the collar down the street

and bashes him in the face

illustrating with a swift left hook

that it’s better to give than to

receive

─by Kevin Keane