I imagined people at breakfast, people who know each other intimately, probably a husband and a wife, speaking in unfinished sentences, in grunts, in coughs, as people do, particularly at that time of day. And I wondered what it would be like to sit down at that kind of dialogue, in which sentences are rarely completed and thoughts are rarely followed up and one person is not really listening closely to another. That’s all I had. And that’s when I began writing - Don Delillo
Wednesday 26 September 2012
MONICA BELLUCCI
En Salchichas de Pollo estamos tan sumamente enamorados de Mónica Bellucci que problemas como el cambio climático o el riñón o la tos seca con la que Teresa se atraganta, pierden peso. En Salchichas de Pollo no estamos interesados en saber lo que hay detrás de esos ojos color precipicio, no nos interesa Mónica Bellucci la persona, no la queremos imaginar poniendo una lavadora ni gritándole a la vecina del quinto desde su ventana del patio de luces. Nos interesa la otra Mónica Bellucci, la que de tan guapa parece mentira, la de plástico, de cartón piedra, la del país de Alicia
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