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

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

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

AS ARMAS DA LEI

+ Meu comandante, temos outro caso de dissidente. Trata-se do PTR.

— O PTR? O que fez agora esse filho da...?

+ Declarou que a nossa doutrina lhe parece uma parvoíce e que vai por livre. De facto acaba de publicar na rede um manual de princípios e já teve 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 não chegou com isso...

+ Não 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 fizeram pelo menos duas, que eu saiba

— Então não sei o que ganha com isto e como tem a coragem de fazer o que faz. Apesar da marginalização a que foi submetido, vejo que continua a tocar o caralho, porque por causa da internet tem voz... Agente Caeiro, há que tomar medidas drásticas contra o PTR, já me entende...

+ Quer dizer que pareça um acidente?

— Não seja burro, caralho, que somos a polícia linguística, não a polícia policial. Ainda que já gostaria eu, já gostaria...

+ Desculpe, meu comandante, o que disse isso último que não ouvi?

— Que não seja burro e que pense na maneira em neutralizar esse dissidente... Entendeu?

Frantz Ferentz, 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

STEALING A DREAM

+ Mum, how could they steal me a dream?

— Why do you ask?

+ Well, I had 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 my most shining dream. They also came up in the middle of the night and tried to seize it from 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

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

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

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

THE LITTLE GREAT MAN

    I met Antonino on the net. He was one of the many fellows I had met along the years. In many cases I had tried to settle a serious relationship with some of them, but it had always been unsuccessful. Instead, Antonino looked quite an interesting person, his likes and my likes were quite similar, so I thought we could get along well. Why not to try?, I thought.
    We got a date on a cloudy day. I myself chose the place for the meeting. It was a classic cafe by the harbour. A nice place I liked. I had thought he could have cheated as for his profile picture, as many other people do, but fortunately he hadn't. I recognised him as soon as he came through the door. However, he was much shorter than I had imagined. I am some 1,70 metres tall, but he was around 1,55 m. tall. I didn't like it, but I couldn't get away immediately, so I decided to spend the rest of the evening with him.

    Despite my initial prejudices, I found Antonino even much more amazing than I had expected. After having a coffee together, he suggested we should have dinner somewhere else. He knew a Japanese restaurant on the other side of the harbour. I accepted willingly, since I was really enjoying myself.
    As we were leaving the cafe, it began to rain, but rather than rain, it seemed a deluge. Antonino's reaction was then unexpected. He set to swear in a quite unpleasant way. He refused to leave the cafe threshold.
    "Don't worry, I've got an umbrella", I said trying to calm him down.
    "That's no guarantee I won't get wet", he insisted, his tone even more unpleasant.
    Anyway I kept on insisting to make for the Japanese restaurant. Antonino would probably realize he was transmitting quite a negative impression of himself, so he accepted my offer and walked by me under the umbrella. But he couldn't avoid getting wet, which made him grudge the whole way until the restaurant. When we were inside, he rushed into the bathroom to get dry. Later he joined me at the table. He was changed... someway. I couldn't say how he was different, but he was. He took a seat in front of me and began to read the menu. Suddenly I realized how he was different. He was shorter then, maybe some five centimetres. Then I understood why he was so furious with the rain, which he avoided at all costs; the water had a strange effect upon him: whenever he got wet, he shrank, like a woolen pullover.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

A LETTER FROM A TRANSLATOR TO HIS PUBLISHER

Dear Publisher,

Attached you will find my file containing the Spanish version of your book. I'm finally done with the translation you asked me for, though I could nearly say the translation was done with me. I am aware my life has shortened after this translation, and please, don't take it as if I were blowing up this situation, it is absolutely true, my doctor has just confirmed it to me. During the long month I've been translating this indescribable text, I've experienced things no other translator would ever imagine. To start with, I will mention that the ghost of the painter whose life I was translating contacted me himself. He felt so sorry for me as I was fighting against that text, that he suddenly turned up in the middle of my studio. He said he didn't intend to scare me, but he was sure that an apparition of his would never cause me a stronger shock than the translation I was performing. He was right, there are different degrees of horror. Anyway, since that moment on, he communicated with me by chat, which is much calmer, just to give me pieces of advice about the meaning of his pictures. But that's not all I had to suffer. Since the language used by the text's author was so "original" and I couldn't stop looking up for info on Google, the Google Translator ran out of service. The firm called me, they intended to report me to the Interpol; they affirmed I had spoiled I don't know what megacomputer of theirs, given to the large amount of information concerning a non-existing language I sent to it... Well, the thing is still there, I don't know how it will end up, but in case of a trial, your publishing house will have to solve it, as I was working for you when the events took place. Anyway, not everything is so negative. Apart from Google, the NY University got in touch with me. The Linguistics Department was also interested in that new language, which resulted from a combination of the author's knowledge of archaic (almost medieval) Austrian German, sleepless nights wet in alcohol and "creative technology"; the language is reportedly suitable for films about aliens, as if it were a kind of new Klingon. Furthermore, I've even been whispered that the Swedish Academy is planning to create the Nobel Prize of Translation, whose first winner would be me.

As you can see, my dear Publisher, after I've finished the translation, I am a completely different person. And I mean it literally: a completely different person, I'm no longer myself and that's why my wife has abandoned me. Therefore, I beg you to reconsider the fare you initially offered me for this work. It's quite unfair such a short amount of money for such a lethal text that will be soon part of the History of Humankind.

Warm regards

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

WHEN LOVE IS YOUR RUIN

John was absolutely in love with Clarinda, but instead of giving her an engagement ring, he gave her a silver key and explained:

"This is the key of my heart, use it, it's only yours", and then he showed her a keyhole on his chest.

She smiled happily, but she was not moved at all. Actually the man had made a serious mistake, since he had helped Clarinda find out so easily what her real vocation was: organ trader.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

ABOUT LOVE AND PERCEPTION

"I've been married to you for the last fifteen years... It's time I mentioned you how wary I am about you. Let's see, you eat like a dog, you roar like a dog, you sit like a dog... Tell me, please, are you really a dog?", asked the woman to her husband, who was calmly sitting on the carpet in front of the TV set.

"Goal! Goal! Goal! Have you seen that shoot! Wow, wow, wow!!", he shouted suddenly and began to lick his genitals calmly and pleasantly.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

MONOTHEISM AGAINST POLYTHEISM: THE EVIDENCES

The good pastor didn't give up in order to convince the unbelieving woman about the existence of God. He had chosen an amazing landscape for that: and endless prairie where Nature had no limits.

"Rely on me, my friend, you can believe in what you don't see", said the priest in a cloying voice.

"I can't, really. I just believe in what I see. That's why I am not monotheist, but polytheist".

"How come?", the pastor was astonished. "You mean, you've ever experienced more than one god?"

"Exactly. As a matter of fact, I've already come across dozens of them..."

The pastor could not believe his ears. For a while he thought she was making fun of him, but he refused to believe it, so he asked:

"Please, explain it to me".

"It's quite simple. The social networks are plenty of gods and goddesses. And they are continuously showing themselves off over there... Haven't you noticed it?"

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

THE RIGHT CONCEPT

I had always thought it was one of my husband's jokes to speak about the "blank sheet fear" instead of the blank sheet syndrome, until I found the lower half of his body lying on the floor and the blank sheet on his table eructing and  covered with hundreds of blood-like spots.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

A MATTER OF DEFINITIONS

She finally made her mind up: she'd divorce him, the main argument being he was a cannibal.

"How come I am a cannibal", he cried when he learned what his wife had said about him. "I'm a perfect vegan!!

"Exactly", she explained, "a dude who spends his whole life vegetating on a sofa and eats vegetables is a cannibal, isn't he?"

Frantz Ferentz, 2014

THE PERFECT MAN

Woman is urgently looking for a man who can cook, talk intelligently about literature, music or movies, be romantic and drink beer moderately. If you are that man, please, call my husband up and tell him you actually exist and are not a product of my imagination.

Frantz Ferentz, 2014