This digital clock showed the day June 1 of 200* when Pedro Almodóvar entered involuntarily.
He entered one of his movies, or it was directed by someone else?
Because his mind was so centralized on and absorbed by the plot, that he was irremissibly hauled into the film, and the film still was occurring on the DVD when he entered
and he entered walking:
as soon as he perforated that second reality, he found himself in the middle of the rage of a two-way street in Barcelona, Paris or Rome, and the street was narrow, and the traffic was feverish and divided by a thin yellow line, and Almodóvar was standing on the line, and the cars passed by at 100 km p/h, and the drivers shouted at him to get out of that dangerous place, because they couldn't stop, and the iron of the vehicles passed running furiously in both directions at few centimeters from the back and chest of Almodóvar, and he could feel the automotive wind expelled by the cars on his face, nucha and hands:
it was a trap, the escape from that lethal rue was impossible, and trying to get out of there in a rush meant a sure death under the wheels of any of those unstoppable vehicles that now seemed to pass by closer and closer to his humanity, almost rubbing him.
Trembling with panic, Almodóvar kept his torso vertically stiff and his arms and hands stuck to his hips like a grenadier
while the motorcars on the run irradiated vivid and violent breeze in his face, Almodóvar realized he was in a different movie to that he was watching when he entered
while he swallowed saliva and tried to keep his torso more erect yet, abandoned to the criminal madness of the speedy traffic, the shouts of the drivers and the discordant noise of the vehicle horns, Almodóvar sees a rope falling on his head from a helicopter:
like a man who holds his last hope with desperate hands, Almodóvar grasps the rope and is lifted in the air of the afternoon:
the helicopter is manually controlled by Elena X, a sort of modified character from one of his own movies
Elena X looks at Almodóvar from her seat in the helicopter and smiles like a benevolent God
she is the Ghost of Good Luck, and while Almodóvar raises his head and observes her stare, hanging from the distance of the saving rope, her eyes look at him, and communicate a message into the Almodóvar's mind:
"It is a movie, but it is not one movie... it's several. Two or three or one thousand or seventy six movies... and all the characters are safe playing their roles at the fiction of the cellulloid... except you, Almodóvar, you, who are here in flesh, blood and bones, defenceless and exposed at random to the vicissitudes, completely unprotected and open to assault, injury, damage or theft."
As Elena X and her volant machine take Almodóvar away from that calle de la muerte, the sky becomes strong in fibrous blue, infinite background for the helicopter silhouetted against le ciel like a surreal silvery mosquito
breathless and confused, still hanging, Almodóvar sees the otherwordly image and scene in which he is involved without a net
a sense of deja vu that starts invading his mind when the rope gets suddenly loosened, letting him fall on the hard ground of a sidewalk in another zone of the city, while the helicopter and Elena X disappear in the horizon.
And how comes? How comes that as soon as he is rudely deposited on that sidewalk, six patrol cars appear running behind a Citroneta?
The Citroneta stops brusquely in front of Almodóvar, who is still fallen on the sidewalk, two delinquents jump out of the car and take Almodóvar as prisoner putting two guns in his head, using him as human shield, and shouting at the police in Italian, English, Spanish, French and Catalan:
"Let us go or we blow his head!"
The skyline and the city in general look like an artificial montage made from cardboard and coated paper painted in strident blue, red and green, besides a flashy combination of oranges, violets and pastels
the outlaws come running away after stealing the unwashed golden tanga of Countess Condotti, valuated in 2 million Euros:
in the middle of the tense and dramatic moment, at 3:00 PM, while more and more patrol cars appear in the scene, and the tone of the mutual and nervous menaces between the malefactors and the police get increased, the criminals, in audacious move, run into an overcrowded Mc Donald's which is located 10 metres away from their position
a cloud of blue uniforms rushes behind them in front of the terrified customers who try to escape in stampede and screams of anguish
now the thieves are sheltered behind the counter, embraced to Almodóvar, with both guns stuck on his head:
"¡Retrocedan hijos de puta! ¡Atrás o lo matamos, lo matamos!"
While myriad of patrol cars still keep arriving and the zone is seized, sharpshooters start getting settled on the near rooftops with their rifles ready
a cop with a megaphone spits from the door of the restaurant
"Pistole sul bancone e nessuno saranno feriti! Allons!"
Cornered and without a way out, the offenders jump into the kitchen, in a do-or-die manoeuvre, as multiple gunshots start impacting on the wall behind them:
both delinquents with the captured Almodóvar get out through a back door pursued by the agents, finding by chance a delivery boy with a Gilera "Arcore" 150cc:
the felons push the delivery boy, capture the motorcycle and escape with the panicked Almodóvar under a heavy storm of shots.
Once the ladrones saw themselves free and out of reach, they pushed Almodóvar out of the moto without diminishing the speed, as if he was a sack of potatoes, getting away still faster on the Gilera that got quickly lost through the zig-zagging lanes:
it was 4:33 PM.
The already fatigued, thirsty and disoriented Almodóvar fell on the hard pavement rolling like a giant bicho bolita, and his poor body crashed against a digitized parking meter
he realized now he was in Madrid: dumbfounded Almodóvar raised his head when the brakes of a modified and enlarged Ford Fairlane are heard echoing all over the street with screeching noise of tires: the car occupies the whole street and 9 supertransvestites in diminutive underwear descend from it, catching Almodóvar and carrying him shoulder-high toward the atypical vehicle walking like models on a catwalk with scandalous screams, alarming the neighborhood.
The transssexuals used him and abused him in the car, forcing Almodóvar to suck their respective cocks, while they sucked Almodóvar's penis which, despite being excessively small still was the dick of a celebrity, and that always reports an extra I-don't-know-what:
as soon as the transssexuals and the semi-prisoner Almodóvar arrived at the motel "El Sogazo", they rented immediately a doubleroom, and started a gargantuan fornication with an Almodóvar who did the best he could to survive.
Then the president of the trannies, Raquel Mancini (actually Ana, actually Roberdo), she monopolized the body of Almodóvar like a nasty dominatrix for the rest of the session -which lasted some few minutes anyway:
then she threw him on the comfy bed and 69-ed Almodóvar, who was asphyxiated and captive between her legs like a crab
and then, when she came again, hurled Almodóvar through the window like a fucking puppet
the other transssexuals got a bit surprised (not much actually) by this brusque incident, but they realized it was just product of a moment of passion of Raquel Mancini, so they kept fucking each other, while Almodóvar was almost exanimous fallen on the sidewalk, fortunately it was a 2nd floor, only.
When Almodóvar started recovering consciousness, with terrible cramps in his genitalia and tongue, pain everywhere, and a fissured femur, he tried to stand up from the sidewalk, but there wasn't any sidewalk, just dust:
here he understood he was not in Madrid anymore, but somewhere else, on a dry and strange land, and in fact he was in another movie:
all of a sudden he sees a tall and muscular guy coming to him with a leg of pork in his hand, un jamón, yes: un jamón?
A new and powerful deja vu erected his hairs in horripilation
the sky was blue
the guy stopped at 30 cm from the -still- fallen Almodóvar, and started hitting him with the leg of pork mercilessly.
As the leg of pork impacted on his head, shoulders and back over and over making a hollow noise, the exhausted, practically dead Almodóvar starts screaming for help:
"¡Policía, alguien! ¡Socorro! ¡Socorro!
¡Me mata! ¡Ahhhh! ¡Hijo de pu... taa..!"
It's exactly at 6:50 PM when his last resistance is almost broken when a Mehari (a Mehari?) appears in the fucking scene, overcrowded by 7 hysterical women whose ages range between 30-something and 40-something years old:
several stretched arms of female get stretched and grasp Almodóvar steadily (notable this) bringing him on the Mehari, as the car runs away on the cracked ground of the arid place, saving the filmmaker from a sure and repugant death: a death by ham.
As the Mehari runs, or more than runs, flies on the dry land, at the pasmosa velocity of 130 km p/h, the women don't stop talking out loud about the penises of their boyfriend, fiancee, lover, fuckdummy with extremely salacious words, and about 700.000 million body milks, nail polish, products for the hair, handbag, lipstick, bijouterie, shoes, make-up, bracelet, dildo, perfume, brassiere, moisturizing cream, anti cellulite leggings, and all shouted and spoken very fast with an Almodóvar silent there in the middle:
something atroscious[sic] happens when the driver, Rossy de Palta loses control of the wheel and the Mehari crashes brootally against an ombú (an ombú?) that was standing proud and towering in the middle of that desert
the women stay all unconscious there but Almodóvar is catapulted out of the car by the impact flying like Birdman and falls head first on the petrified earth getting knocked out in the act.
Some minutes later the Mehari explodes carbonizing the 7 comatose women in macabre conflagration: the violent bursting awakes Almodóvar, who stands up with great torpor and starts walking away from that appalling place... after 55 steps Almodóvar is approached by a tattooed oddball come out of nowhere who looks like a feline and sips mate cimarrón from an Uruguayan porongo:
the freak obstructs his way and won't let him pass until they play a game, then says hello
"Hello, my name is Kitty Manver, I'm ex-trucker, hermaphrodite manwoman and lip reader.
I can guess any labial, dental and lingual viseme from 50 metres, you will pronounce some phrases without sound, and I will guess 'em, I live here in the wilderness, and do this with any occasional foreigner that passes by. Then, I'll let you go, Mr...?"
"Almorrana, Pedro Almorrana."
-Almodóvar said, with notorious physical debility, and realizing he left the arid land behind, and was already in another movie.
"Ok, start speaking without sounds, I'll guess everything from... this distance."
-The weirdo said, and walked some metres away:
"Now, start!"
Almodóvar started moving his lips totally numb and dizzy, his vocal cords didn't emit any sound, but he envisioned the words in his mind:
"Why don't you go and fuck yourself, la recalcada concha de tu vieja en shiorts[sic] and go to hell and die and then go and hammer down yer balls with the hammer of THOR and die again, hideputa[sic], and then go inject a barium enema with 1 litre of cum and then die again and go away and die you fucking crackpot.
Aaaatchís. Cough."
The cat man observed with extreme attention every movement in the mouth, teeth, tongue and lips of Almodóvar, and stayed ruminating some seconds, then declared what he guessed:
"Why don't you wish me good luck yourself, and a farewell, and also teach me how to read lips alright, to do it again, to guess every WORD yet again, and every lemma, flowing gracile like 1 litre of rhum in the vein, till the day I die, in peace, like the marmot.
Aaaatchís. Cough."
"Exact... perfect... it's correct."
-Almodóvar said, and fell completely groggy on the ground, while the eccentric stranger observed him fallen... and Almodóvar remembered the words of Elena X when the feline face started swirling
and swirling
and swirling in his eyes
and swirling everywhere
and swirl
and sw
and s...
s...
s...
his pet cat Musimessi was licking his face with swirling movements of its small and furry face when Almodóvar woke up on his sofa, with a conspicuous erection, his clothes all covered in dust and grease of pork, muscular cramps and pain everywhere, a big lump on his head, an unbearable ache in a femur, a golden tanga in his pocket, and the shitty sensation -in general- of having received a massive beating.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario