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LETTER 3

Sábado, 8 de febrero de 2014 6 comentarios

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18b

You are invited to personalize my utopictures. Just @sk me which slice of Habana you want me to shoot. At the end most of your wishes will be published back in this collective bluff. Let me know what you miss most, including Habana people, and in revenge I will cut this city in pieces of pics for you. You’re welcome!

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Hola, Orlando:

Yo también, si te es posible, quiero un pedacito de tu Habana para mí.

Sería el puerto de la Habana, la bahía, la visión desde Regla, Casa Blanca, quizá desde la lanchita, lo que puedas.

Gracias,

Fransis.

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18f

Send me a card from Habana Bay. Just send me a card from Habayna. Untrue colors of twilight. Ruins and glam cathedrals. Tires tied with chains to the borders of this island without frontiers, hopefully to make it float astray. Nowhere isle. Ecological chimneys of Neversmoke. Hermetic Hermes on top. Madera’s marble Jesus staring us in proud abandon since December 1958. Raw architecture. Iron bones of underdevelopment. Public boats to cross from coast to coast in five definite minutes. Fuel smell. Containers. Hills as blue phantoms beyond horizon. I’ve heard it all, I even remember it well. But still send me a card from Habana Bay. You just send me a card from Habayna.

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LETTER 4

Sábado, 8 de febrero de 2014 Sin comentarios

20a

 

20b

 

You are invited to personalize my utopictures. Just @sk me which slice of Habana you want me to shoot and I will be publish it in this collective bluff. Let me know what you miss most, including Habana people, and in revenge I will cut this city in pieces of pics for you.

 

 20c

 

20d

 

   Hola Orlando Luis,

   Quería pedirte algunas fotos de las escalinatas de Lawton, desde la calle 10 se ve un pedacito de la bahía. Y, si es posible, de la Quinta de los Locos.

   Ese es tu territorio, así que creo que no te será difícil.

   Un abrazo,

   D.

 

20e

 Stairway to hellven. Steeplechase steps to reach the promiscuous promise of a brand new day beneath the deep subcuban skies. Barren neighborhoods of a deserted Habanasaudi. In one of those top wastelands I once lost a tooth. In another a girl kissed my lips by force, half a second before I managed to run away from the spot. Still in another I have looked, desperately blind, long and long at the lonely moon of Lawton´s lean streets and ragged suburbs. I live surrounded by this precious plague of cemented hills (cemeterills). Now they are mute forever, but they used to function as resonant slogan blackboards. Fossil republican architecture, boring and yet somehow boreal (both real). Something like antediluvian stairsaurs. A bunker of beauty waiting for nothing in the very bones of the beholder. In principle, stairway to home. In the end, a stairway to whome?

 

20f

 

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