He tenido una semana lo bastante aburrida sin absolutamente nada de trabajo, pero con la obligación de estar sentada frente a la computadora de mi trabajo las 8 horas reglamentarias y sin nada de inspiración, pues me la he pasado saltando de blog en blog descubriendo lo inculta que soy -_- y lo mucho que me falta para poder postear como se debe.... (si es que realmente hay alguna forma), pero hoy mi inspiración llegó de Kay que la encontré gracias a (I_I) , al leer su blog me dieron ganas de postear algo y el tema viene precisamente dedicado a (I_I), gracias a blogs como el de Kay descubres cosas nuevas e interesantes, así que en esta ocasión quiero mostrarles "The Melancholy Death of Oyter Boy" que surge de la mente de excentrico Tim Burton, quienes solo piensan en "Batman"..."Charlie y la fábrica de chocolates" al escuchar este nombre quiero compartirles la parte mas relevante a mi gusto de su genialidad, recopila en un pequeño libro cuentos escritos en forma de verso e ilustrados con acuarela por él mismo, no es casualidad que nos encontremos en alguno de los personajes de estas historias que reflejan ingeniosamente nuestra sociedad. El titulo del libro da razón a la historia más triste la del Chico Ostra cuyos padres se declaran en la costa del mar, el pobre huele a pescado, sufre el rechazo de los chicos del barrio y se pasa las horas mirando cómo el agua se arremolina en la alcantarilla, es finalmente devorado por su padre y enterrado en la playa pero nadie podrá recordarlo porque las olas borran todas las huellas de su salada existencia.Hay quienes relacionan los cuentos de Burton con mucha de su filmografia, para mi solo es el reflejo mas puro del artista y por eso es mi director favorito, en otra ocasion les mostraré más de su trabajo!!!. The Melancholy Death of Oyter Boy
He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea,
Their nine-day-long honeymoon
was on the isle of Capri.
For their supper they had one specatular dish-
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
her bride's heart made a wish.
That wish came true-she gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human
Well, maybe.
Ten fingers, ten toes,
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal?
Not quite.
This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.
She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine."
"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
you cannot blame me
.... have you ever considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?"
Not knowing what to name him,
they just called him Sam,
or sometimes,
"that thing that looks like a clam"
Everyone wondered, but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?
When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
they called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.
One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main,
he watched the rain water as it swirled
down the drain.
His mom on the freeway
in the breakdown lane
was pouding the dashboard-
she couldn't contain
the ever-rising grief,
frustration,
and pain.
"Really, sweetheart," she said"
I don't mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy
and I think it's our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
you're blaming our son for your problems in bed."
He tried salves, he tried ointments
that turned everything red.
He tried potions and lotions
and tincture of lead.
He ached and he itched and he twitched and he bled.
The doctor diagnosed,
"I can't quite be sure,
but the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!"
He came on tiptoe,
he came on the sly,
sweat on his forehead,
and on his lips-a lie.
"Son, are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
but do you dream of Heaven?
Have you ever wanted to die?
Sam blinked his eye twice.
but made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.
As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.
They burried him quickly in the sand by the sea
-sighed a prayer, wept a tear-
and they were back home by three.
A cross of greay driftwood marked Oyster Boy's grave.
Words writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.
But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.
Les debo las imagenes no se por que pero suben muy mal!! =(
