por Eva Posas

No hace tanto tiempo era la más adicta a  eBay. Tener, -literal- el mundo material en los dedos de tu mano es algo que se oye sencillo, pero tiene repercusiones más grandes de lo que parecen. Una vez llegó al salón de la universidad mi amigo con una gran caja que recién había recogido del correo. ¿Qué traes ahí? pregunté yo. Un dinosaurio contestó. El Tiranosaurio Rex había cruzado varios países gracias a eBay y ahí empezó mi adicción.

Había olvidado esa etapa hasta ahora que me topo con un eBay conceptualizado. Significant Objects es un proyecto literario basado en esta tiendita de ensueño. La idea es que escritores inventen historias sobre objetos. Luego, cargado de nuevos significados conferidos por los escritos, esos objetos tendrían que adquirir un valor material además del subjetivo. En principio es una teoría, eBay es el lugar donde prueban el experimento.

Por supuesto, hay reglas: Primero, los curadores (Rob Walker y Joshua Glenn) compran chacharas baratas. Casi regaladas. Luego, el escritor en turno debe escribir algo con respecto a determinado objeto. Aquí es donde la chachara se vuelve “importante”. Ya con su respectiva historia (que también puede ser gráfica), el objeto se enlista en eBay para que la gente oferte como en una subasta. La historia se pone en lugar de la “descripción del objeto”. Para finalizar, el ofertante ganador se queda con su bonito objeto y el escritor con los derechos de su historia, pero siempre al alcance y gusto de todos.

A continuación, dos objetos con sus dos historias. English only. (Empecemos nuestra versión en español):


Kenny is a funny clown por Nick Asbury

Kenny is a funny clown.
He sees the whole world upside-down.
Kenny is my best friend.

The day before Kenny was born, he said
“I bet I can live life standing on me ’ead!”
Kenny is from the North of England.

Kenny sometimes says to me:
“I am the King of Comedy!
Just don’t ask me to do stand-up!”

It’s funnier when Kenny says it.

Kenny’s favourite food
is upside-down cake.
Except he calls it right-way-up cake.

Kenny likes to chat up the ladies.
He says “Hey! I’ve fallen for you baby!”
and the ladies all fall head over heels
and Kenny says “Now you know how it feels!”

Kenny says he has to move on.
“It’s time I stood on my own two feet,
paid my way in this world,
met some new people, maybe a girl!”

Kenny will make someone very happy.
He’s a stand-up guy for an upside-down chappy.
He cheers you up on the days you’re down
and turns any frown upside-down.

Kenny has also asked me to mention
that he is an expert breakdancer.

So long Kenny! See you around.
Keep your feet in the clouds
and your head on the ground.


Llavero thai por Bruno Maddox

Did she love me? Nah. Did I love her? Yeah. So I got her this wooden map of Thailand with four hooks sticking out. Figured she could use it to hang items on — you know, in her future life. Whether or not she chose to let me be a part of that.

I wrapped it up best I could. Frank’s cologne came in some green tissue paper which I tried using first, but the hooks and the peninsula kept poking through, or seeming like they were about to, so I went back to the shop and bought a little girl’s raincoat with a white fur hood. Back in the room I stood on the coat and tore the hood off to make a pouch for the map. It looked good, and I felt a tingle of hope and fear. Because my love was real.

Our flight was at seven, checkout was noon. Frank and Headcase were having pints at the roulette table in the lobby and I said I was going quickly say goodbye to Sick Mick at the hospital. “Tell him he’s a woman,” Headcase told me, looking at the wheel and fingering his chips. “Since when is alcohol a poison?”

Her mum let me in and shooed me to the back. The door was open and she was on the bed reading a magazine very intently.

“I love you,” I said, when we were sitting on the bed together.

“Yes,” she said. “I love you.”

I shook my head. “No,” I explained. “Love…” I pointed to my chest and mimed lines going from my heart to her face. “I love you.”

She watched closely. Her long hair brushed her crossed legs as she nodded. “I love you.”

Down the corridor, a door slammed. I told her I’d got her something.

The lads still give me guff about it. “I know what you’re thinking,” Sick Mick’ll say if I daydream in the cafeteria, and that’ll set the others off, which I like because it makes me remember her.

But it’s not what they think. You see, she didn’t know what it was. I had to explain that this was her country, and that there were others, and about the world, and I left her there staring at it. And while I do often think of her, when I wake up, or coming back hammered after being out with the lads, it’s not sexual in nature. Well, it feels sexual, but what I see is her at a podium, dressed like Margaret Thatcher, addressing the International Union of Nations or something, jabbing the wooden map I gave her at all the sheikhs and toffs and monocled kings, shouting the words to the sad, sad song she sang that first night in the bar at karaoke. She sang it in Thai, that night, but the English words were behind her on a screen:

Leaves are falling on my heart.
Why did you set fire to our love?

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