& Moira Bianchi: Tarantula

sábado, 1 de fevereiro de 2014


OMG, amazing Almodovar!

I discovered this story when I saw the amazing movie . Let me tell you, I'm not an Almodovar fan, but I can appreciate the tortured fun of All About My Mother or the pain in Talk To Her ; also the chaotic fun in I'M So Excited! . But this one... really got me.

To the very end I didn't see it! I didn't see it coming!
The book in which the movie was based is... also amazing. So dark and rich... I loved it.

Have you ever read it? How about the 40th page now?...

a pele que habito hot rio chick


Thierry Jonquet

PART II       The Poison
page 40

"If things worked out, Alex would go with the girl after Vincent, but things didn’t always work out. Some of them simply couldn’t help putting on airs and graces. And they didn’t always like Alex, who was muscular, hairy as an ape, and very solidly built. No, they would rather have Vincent—puny, hairless, delicate Vincent with his oh-sopretty face!

Lost in thoughts of an earlier time, Alex jerked off.

Laboriously mobilizing his shaky memory, he tried to pass all the girls he had shared with Vincent in rapid review. And to think that Vincent had abandoned him! 

The bastard! He was probably in America by now, getting
laid by starlets!

A naked calendar girl adorned the whitewashed wall next to Alex’s bed. He closed his eyes as warm creamy sperm flowed into his hand. He wiped himself off with a spare dressing and went down to the kitchen to make coffee. He made it very strong. As the water was heating, he thrust his head under the tap, pushing aside the piles of dirty dishes that cluttered the sink.

He sipped from his steaming bowl of coffee and chewed on the remains of a sandwich. Outside, it was already stifling, the sun now high in the sky. Alex turned the radio on and listened to a quiz show on Radio Luxembourg called The Suitcase. He didn’t give a shit about the show, but he enjoyed hearing the losers getting the answers wrong and failing to collect the money they wanted so much.

He didn’t give a shit because he had not lost the money.

In his suitcase—which wasn’t so much a suitcase, more a bag—were four million francs. A fortune. He had counted the wads of bills, over and over. New, crackling bills. He had looked in the dictionary to see who these people were whose likenesses were printed on the notes: Voltaire, Pascal, Berlioz. How weird, to have your photo on a banknote— rather like being turned into a bit of money yourself."

Oh yeah... Bad boys and their nearsightedness...
Things will go askew, Vincent... Most horribly.

Disclaimer: 40 pages 40 is my way to come to terms with celebrate my 40th birthday. By promoting 40 awesome books I like in no way I intend to dupe the original authors. If you, as me, like what you read, buy them!
All 40 books can be found on the right side bar. ►
All images found on Google. Kudos to the original poster.

Nenhum comentário:

Postar um comentário