martes, 1 de mayo de 2012

ON THE STANLEY KUBRICK ARCHIVES

It was a dark Sunday afternoon, the one in which I was on my way to the Ópera Plaza Cinema to watch “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being”, walking down Tenth Avenue and 26th, when I stopped for a moment in front of Taschen’s official shop’s glass display, as the vision of a gigantic book paralyzed my whole self; it was a book of Dantesque proportions called “The Stanley Kubrick Archives”, of approximately forty centimeters long by thirty wide, with a red and black hard cover, and I reckoned it was at the least five hundred pages long, each of them showcasing images of magnificent films I had seen, like, for instance, a picture of Keir Dullea, executing the formidable and always welcome Kubrickian stare, on his way to HAL 9000’s imminent disconnection; a full-page image of a ducked Malcolm MacDowell, with his hands on his back and an evil smirk, just about to chasten the always grinning and excessive Dim without cutting any of his “main cables” was also likely to be found; and of course, it had to have photographs of Jack Nicholson terrorizing shining Danny and Shelley Duvall in that devil bound and abandoned hotel. 


“It will be mine…”, I thought, and, in fact, it had to be mine, so I destroyed the glass display which impeded me from uniting my book, kicking it with my metal boots. Nothing separated us, so I came close to get it out of the display, but what a heavy book! And that’s the way it had to be, according to the aforementioned measures… It had to weigh about seven kilos, but it did not occur to me before I laid my hands on it. “The Stanley Kubrick Archives” was to become my next cult object, shedding such honor from another Taschen book entitled “Best Movies Of The Nineties”, a really good book, by the way, but not even the greatest filmmakers of the Nineties came close to Stanley Kubrick’s genius and wit, all of which could be appreciated in hundreds of images printed in the book which was in my hands at that moment. As obvious as it could have been, it did not occur to me that the racket caused by the destruction of the display and the consequent alarm, which shot almost simultaneously, would call the attention of every pedestrian at half a kilometer radius. 

In this state of affairs, a young man with glasses and long hair approached me, inviting me to place the book in its place, and so I did: I unloaded seven kilos and a couple of additional newtons at the base of his nape, imagining, of course, Gioacchino Rossini’s “The Thieving Magpie” as background music, knocking out ipso facto the aforementioned cheloveck, my great and only friends, and I felt incredibly horrorshow with such display of ultraviolence. In that instant a devotchka started yelling, and the millicents hurried in order to trap me, but no, I could not let them strip me of a book which had always been mine, even before its conception; I entered into crisis for a few moments, but then I took notice of a distant stereo which was blaring King Crimson’s “21st Century Schizoid Man”, which I interpreted as a signal that Bog was sending me, and I viddied right at once what to do; to plunge into the void, to unite with “The Stanley Kubrick Archives” and immortalize myself eternally. Thus, I jumped over the bridge on Tenth and 26th, falling on the hard asphalt, breaking countless bones, and a truck which went over myself performed the coup de grâce

Unlike what happens in “A Clockwork Orange”, I did die, and I am writing this story from my own world, gazing at “The Stanley Kubrick Archives” free from distrubances, admiring photographs of Ryan O’Neal in majestic Central European landscapes, clad in the latest fashion scream of the Eighteenth Century; of Peter Sellers’ different personifications, including the president of U.S.A. and as Dr. Strangelove; of Vincent D’Onofrio in his chilling last visit to the latrine; and, of course, of Tom Cruise immerse in the different situations which held place in a strange (or common?) New York night, and so on, until the end of times, for ever… And ever… And ever…

Original short story 2005 – This translation 2012

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