Friday, 6 March 2015

ALL YOU CAN LOVE

Resultado de imagen de donut girl
"My son told me once he had fallen in love with a donut who went to his same school..." Mrs Garcia used to tell her acquaintances.

As expected, all her acquaintances immediately wanted to know what her son had actually fallen in love with.

"She was naturally a girl", she explained. "Yet, she did look like a donut, she even had a kind of hole in the middle of her stomach; it was the largest navel one could have ever seen".

"And did the story end happily?", the curious acquaintances would ask then:

"Well, not too well", Mrs Garcia had to recognise. "My son couldn't maintain the relationship with that girl for too long..."

"Why?"

"Because the doctor order him to be on a diet"



Frantz Ferentz, 2015

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

LACK OF PRIVACY

+ Is that the police?
* Yes, how may I help you?
+ Say, I'm being followed...
* Are you sure?
+ Absolutely.
* Where are you now?
+ In my house.
* And are you being followed within your own house?
+ Sure. They follow me everywhere and all the time. This is a nightmare.
* Try to describe any fellow following you.
+ Let me see... For example, this one has a banana-like face. He says his name is Bananion.
* Are you making fun of me?
+ No, please, I'm completely serious.
* Listen, I can send a patrol to your place to arrest you.
+ Don't do that! I'm completely serious and... now, you see, one more person's just started following me!
* One more person?
+ Yes, it says here: «Blacknose has just started following you». This damned computer says I am currently being followed by 205 people, but I don't want to be followed by anyone at all, you understand me? I just post my things on Twitter for fun... Mind you, what if they even follow me everytime I go to the toilet?

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

THOUGHTS AND RETHOUGHTS OF A TRANSLATOR WHILE PAYING TAXES


This morning I got a German-Spanish translation. The project manager said: «It's urgent». «Sure, like everything else in life, except living, of course», I remember I thought. The text in question was a bad photocopy of a medical report. I don't know how much ink I spent to print the damned report, but I work out it was about 1 euro worth. Well, the person who had digested the text was not native, which meant she misspelt «Arbeit» ━ she wrote «Abeit», fine ━ and «Kante» ━ she wrote «Kannte», great ━. Apart from that, it was plenty of abbreviations. And you know what happens with abbreviations: you need some three hours to find them all, unless you invent a few of them, which is the last resource. 

After some four hours I was done with the translation. «Nice work», I thought. Then I counted the words: 250. Well, that meant 10 euros gross. Do I mean the agency pays me 0,04€ for a medical report DE > ES? Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Shittish, isn't it? But that's the matter, you take it or you leave it. However, things grew even worse. I remembered I still had to give almost 25% of what I had earned to that vampire-faced Finance Minister who seems a clone of Mr Burns. His face came up to my mind. I saw his hyena smile while I was paying that fucking 25% of taxes, which meant that I'd hardly earn 8 euros, to which I should also subtract one more euro of ink (remember I had to print the document).

Guess what? I did the translation for free. Yes. I preferred not to imagine the Finance Minister's vulture-like expression having an actual financial orgasm because of the fucking four euros he'd obtain from me. This time, I wouldn't provide him with any tax pleasure, not even a miserable four-euro-tax orgasm. 

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Tuesday, 18 November 2014

THE PURE-AIR FLASK

   We had been exchanging emails for very long, so we hadn't met up personally. That Tuesday was the day in which we'd finally meet. I knew she was a pure-air maker, a product people enjoyed consuming in big cities. She was a craftswoman; she filtered the air manually and put it into flasks she sold. I was a flower painter, a fellow who painted half-natural flowers to give a spontaneous appearance, as if they had grown up in a garden, which was something absolute unthinkable in those days.
   She was exactly the same person I had seen on photos. I gave her a kiss as a greeting. But she wasn't alone. She was accompanied by a middle-aged man. "This is Mike", she said as she introduced him to me. "He illustrates my flasks, so he's an artist". 
   Artists. I was fed up of those self-named artists. We met in a bar downtown. I just had twenty minutes, but during that time we spend drinking a coffee, Mike went out three times to smoke. During one of the periods in which he absent, she gave me a plastic bag. It contained one of her pure-air flasks. I thanked her for the present. I thought I'd breathe it with pleasure the next weekend at home, while watching a film on TV. Suddenly Mike came in. He saw me grabbing the flask. All his previous kindness became wrath. I saw it on his eyes. He spitted his words to her:
   "We had agreed no bottle would be given as a present. Did you tell him the price?"
   She hesitated. No word came out of her mouth.
   "Fifty Euros", he said without giving her the chance to open her mouth. "That's the price, fifty Euros".
   I felt completely embarrassed. The situation was totally uncomfortable, even violent. So I glanced at her trying to sound natural:
   "I'll transfer you the money tomorrow", I said. Then I left hurrying into the underground station while I put on my air mask.
   Three days later, she got a parcel from me. I hadn't sent her the money, I'd never do that, but I had sent the pure-air flask back to her. The flask was unopened, though one of the flowers I had painted was placed inside, alive, because the air inside was untouched. I do know she's still wondering how I achieved to put that flower inside without opening the flask. It was a mystery I'll never explain her, but maybe her friend Mike could illustrate the flower I had placed in, also without opening the flask. Maybe he could, yes, maybe, and then sell it for hundred Euros, or two hundred, or for a piece of a man’s soul.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Sunday, 16 November 2014

I AM NOT HERE FOR MYSELF


First of all, I'd like to thank my good friend and excellent poet, Magalie, for her invitation to present her last poetry book. It's an honour. How would I present it? Well, it's a mystic poetry book, the same as my last novel "When the last leaf said goodbye while falling". Yes, Magalie's poems reproduce in verse what my own characters express by means of actions. Actually, if I had to tell the plot of Magalie's poetry book I should say it is parallel to what Sophia, the protagonist of my novel, experiences during an autumn she spends in Greenland watching seals. The message I try to transmit is: nature is out there, you guys, just open your eyes and see; Magalie understood it perfectly, because she did read my novel. Furthermore, I can't forget to mention the description of colours that Magalie makes, which is a variation of what I describe in my novel, as well, when seals and pinguins try to open paths through the snow. But I haven't come here to speak about my book, oh no, but about Magalie's. So, let me tell you just one thing: read first my book first and then Magalie's in order to follow a logical order in her poetical thought. She deserves it. She's a great poet. Thank you very much, Magalie, for this occasion to introduce you and your amazing poetry book...


Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Sunday, 26 October 2014

AS ARMAS DA LEI


+ Meu comandante, temos outro caso de dissidente. Trata-se do PTR.
— O PTR? O que fezo agora esse filho da...?
+ Declarou que a nossa doutrina lhe parece uma parvada e que vai por livre. De facto acaba de publicar na rede um manual de princípios e já tevo descargas demais.
— Há que neutralizá-lo, entendeu?
+ Meu comandante, já sabe que o PTR está nas listas negras desde há anos.
— Sei... Mas parece que nom bastou com isso...
+ Nom parece, meu comandante.
— Foi banida a sua presença em todos os nossos congressos, atos formais e demais, certo?
+ Foi.
— Está vetado em todas as nossas publicações soveranas?
+ Está.
— E uma campanha de desprestígio através dos nossos agentes na sombra?
+ Já se lhe fizêrom polo menos duas, que eu saiba
— Daquela nom sei o que ganha com isto e como tem a coragem de fazer o que fai. Apesar da marginalizaçom a que foi submetido, vejo que continua a tocar o caralho, porque pola mor da internet tem voz... Agente Caeiro, há que tomar medidas drásticas contra o PTR, já me entende...
+ Quer dizer que pareça um acidente?
— Nom seja burro, caralho, que somos a polícia linguística, nom a polícia policial. Ainda que já gostaria eu, já gostaria...
+ Desculpe, meu comandante, o que dixo isso último que nom ouvi?
— Que nom seja burro e que pense na maneira em neutralizar esse dissidente... Entendeu?



Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Thursday, 11 September 2014

GALEGO AMÁVEL

— Bom dia. Esta é uma palestra do nosso tema em diapositivos que irei projetando desde o computador se têm a paciência de...
+ Desculpe, profesor. Podo interromper?
— Pode. Ah, que o senhor pertence à polícia lingüistica, não é?
+ Pertenzo. Non debería usar «bon día», «palestra» «diapositivos» ou «computador», iso é portugués, profesor. Diga «bos días», «diapositivas», «charla» e «ordenador», que é galego.
— Entendo. Mas nós queremos que o galego seja língua internacional, não sim?
+ Queremos, claro.
— Bem, daquela começo de novo. Good morning. Esta é uma lecture do nosso tema em slides que irei projetando desde o computer se têm a paciência de...

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

JE M'EN FOUS

+ Je m'en fous
-- De quoi?
+ Je m'en fous de m'en foutre.
-- T'as décidé de te'n foutre?
+ Non, je m'en fous de m'en foutre.
-- J'ai rien compris
+ Je m'en fous

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Tuesday, 9 September 2014

STEALING A DREAM

+ Mum, how could they steal me a dream?
-- Why do you ask?
+ Well, I had got a dream, a beautiful one, but they came up and told me they'd steal it to me. And then they seized my dream and it disappeared in thin air.
-- And who are they?
+ Doesn't matter who they are. They stole my dream, that it is what counts.
-- Let me tell you something. A long time ago, they -those were other 'theys'- also tried to steal me my most shining dream. They also came up in the middle of the night and tried to seize it to me; and my dream disappeared in thin air, like yours.
+ So you lost your dream, didn't you?
-- Not at all. Dreams may not be caught. They just fade away, disappear in thin air, just because they got frightened; and then, when you don't expect it, they turn up again. Dreams can't be stolen, my dear. They know how to protect themselves. So my dream came back for me to fulfil it.
+ And you did?
-- Of course. So just wait for your dream to return any day, any time, anywhere.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Monday, 16 June 2014

DON'T RELY ON FAKE FALSE-FRIENDS

JOSÉ: Hola, ¿dónde vas?

PIERO: Vado a vedere la fiera del libro, mi vuoi accompagnare?

JOSÉ: ¿A la fiera del libro? Nunca he oído hablar de libros carnívoros

Anyway José thinks he's misunderstood Piero. It's absurd what he has interpreted about the word FIERA, so he looks his pocket dictionary up. The Italian word FIERA means both FERIA and FIERA in Spanish. Obviously Piero refers to visiting the Book Fair.

JOSÉ: Está bien, te acompaño.

José has not learned Italian yet. He thinks it is not worth trying to learn such a language, since both Spanish and Italian are mutually understable. After fifteen months in Italy he has caught up with those Italian words that may cause him some trouble. He's even familiarised with false-friends, like this one.

PIERO: Benissimo, dai...

That was the last time Jose was seen alive. His rests, half devored, were found around a public library. Poor José, if he only had paid attention to his intuition and had interpreted Italian FIERA as Spanish FIERA, he'd still be alive. As a matter of fact, books are not what they seem to be, mainly if they're hungry and angry; but worst of all, not all false-friends are complete false-friends

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

Sunday, 1 June 2014

DEPRESSION (3)



+ How are you feeling?
- Well, to be honest, I'm a bit depressed.
+ Excuse me, but I can't understand how a computer like you can have the blues.
- Well, to be honest, I can't understand why are you talking to me as if I were human, so next time, don't ask me how I feel, will you?

DEPRESSION (2)



+ How are you feeling?
- Well, to be honest, I'm a bit depressed.
+ And have you taken any course to learn to be depressed?

DEPRESSION (1)



+ How are you feeling?
- Well, to be honest, I'm a bit depressed.
+ Take care, will you?
- Sure, I know that ain't good for my mental health
+ I didn't mean that. Take care because they might make you pay a special tax for being depressed.  I've read somewhere the government is considering to declare depression as a non-productive state requiring luxury taxes

Sunday, 9 February 2014

AS EVERY NIGHT

As every night, for the last two years, Flint came silently into Laurie's bedroom.

As every night, for the last two years, Flint knelt by Laurie's head and smelled the perfume of her hair.

As every night, for the last two years, Flint murmured on Laurie's ear how much he loved her.

As every night, for the last two years, Flint repeated the sweetest words he knew to surround Laurie's dreams.

As every night, for the last two years, Flint swore eternal love to Laurie.

As every night, for the last two years, Flint left Laurie's room on tiptoe before dawn.

As every morning, for the last two years, Laurie woke up smiling and remembering the love dream she had every night.

As every morning, for the last two years, Laurie hugged tightly her pillow and told it: "Thank you, my pillow; thank you for the dreams you make me dream every night. The seller was right when he made me sure you'd make me really happy every night".


Frantz Ferentz, 2014