Do you love me?
Do I what?
Do you love me?
Do I love you?
With our daughters getting married
And this trouble in the town,
You’re upset, you’re worn out,
Go inside, go lie down.
Maybe it’s indigestion.
Golde, I’m asking you a question-
Do you love me?
You’re a fool.
But do you love me?
Do I love you?
For twenty-five years I’ve washed your clothes,
Cooked your meals, cleaned your house,
Given your children, milked the cow.
After twenty-five years, why talk about
Love right now?
Golde, the first time I met you
Was on our wedding day.
I was scared.
I was shy.
I was nervous.
So was I.
But my father and my mother
Said we’d learn to love each other.
And now I’m asking, Golde,
Do you love me?
I’m your wife.
But do you love me?
Do I love him?
For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him,
Fought with him, starved with him.
Twenty-five years my bed is his.
If that’s not love, what is?
Then you love me?
I suppose I do.
And I suppose I love you, too.
TEVYE and GOLDE:
It doesn’t change a thing,
But even so,
After twenty-five years,
It’s nice to know.
Joseph Stein, Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick, Fiddler on the Roof.
Love is the smile, lust is the pout,
Love are the words, lust is the mouth,
Love is the stakes, lust is the game,
Love is the heart, lust is the bane.
Lust is the fear, love is the trust,
Lust is the uniform, love is the nurse,
Lust is the temptation, love is the chain,
Lust is the lightening, love is the rain.
Love is the eyes, lust is the breast,
Love is the reward, lust is the test,
Love is the heat, lust is the flame,
Love is the answer, lust is the blame.
Lust is many, love is one,
Lust is the singer, love is the song,
Lust is innate, love is learned,
Lust is forgotten, love is engrained.
Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma’s door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, “May I come in?”
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
“He’s going to eat me up!” she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, “That’s not enough!
I haven’t yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!”
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
“I’ve got to have a second helping!”
Then added with a frightful leer,
“I’m therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.”
He quickly put on Grandma’s clothes,
(Of course he hadn’t eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma’s chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
“What great big ears you have, Grandma.”
“All the better to hear you with,” the Wolf replied.
“What great big eyes you have, Grandma.”
said Little Red Riding Hood.
“All the better to see you with,” the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I’m going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma
She’s going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, “But Grandma,
what a lovely great big furry coat you have on.”
“That’s wrong!” cried Wolf. “Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I’ve got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I’m going to eat you anyway.”
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature’s head
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, “Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.”
Roald Dahl, Revolting Rhymes
You’ll be greeted
by a nice cup of coffee
when you get to heaven
and strains of angelic harmony.
But wouldn’t you be devastated
if they only serve decaffeinated
while from the percolators of hell
your soul was assaulted
by Satan’s fresh espresso smell?
Hacer siempre es difícil. Hacer una mesa sólida, dar una buena clase, preparar una comida sabrosa, escribir un artículo redondo, pintar un cuadro misterioso, cortar un vestido elegante, crear una novela memorable, componer una canción para recordar. Hacer algo bien es siempre difícil. Pero, si me apuran, aunque el resultado no apunte a la excelencia, la mesa no sea práctica, la clase resulte tediosa, la comida insulsa y la canción olvidable también habrá detrás un trabajo. Hacer supone un riesgo. No siempre los resultados son como uno espera. Sea como fuere, me merecen más respeto los que hacen que los que, protegidos por su inactividad, se dedican solo a reaccionar ante las obras de otros. Cuánto le gustaba a Pla esa frase de Paul Valéry, “la horrible facilidad de destruir”. Sí, ese es el signo de los tiempos, la tendencia imparable a emitir un juicio inmediato sobre lo que otros hacen. Todos formamos parte de un jurado popular. Entramos en un artículo y comentamos, “este tío no tiene ni puta idea de lo que dice”; o alertamos a nuestros amigos de las redes sociales, “mucho me temo que ese libro es pura bazofia”. Casi ni hace falta ver las cosas que otro hace para juzgarlas. Lo importante, en esta democracia de la reacción, es la rapidez con que uno puede aliviar su ira. Jaron Lanier, uno de los pioneros de Internet que popularizó el término “realidad virtual”, ya alertó sobre esa cultura reactiva, que no se limita a la Red sino que se ha instaurado como costumbre: incluso las columnas están plagadas de reacciones ante lo que han escrito otros. Hacer siempre es difícil; reaccionar, sencillo. Hay personas que viven reaccionando. Y me pregunto cómo hay tantas reacciones en horario laboral: ¿no será que quienes reaccionan tan iracundos ante lo que hacen otros no están cumpliendo adecuadamente con su propio trabajo?
Elvira Lindo para El País.
I hear you’re seeing a bit of Casey.
Casey. I just heard you were…seeing a bit of him.
Where did you hear that?
The funny thing was that the only thing I really felt was irritation, I mean irritation that nobody gossiped about us like that, in the old days. I nearly said, now look, she may be having the occasional drink with Casey, who cares, but she and I had an affair for seven years and none of you bastards had the faintest idea it was happening.
I wonder. I wonder if everybody knew, all the time.
Don’t be silly. We were brilliant. Nobody knew. Who ever went to Kilburn in those days? Just you and me.
Harold Pinter, “Betrayal”.
“A quien dices el secreto das tu libertad”, que diría Fernando de Rojas.
LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.
There one was a young person named Red Riding Hood who lived with her mother on the edge of a large wood. One day her mother asked her to take a basket of fresh fruit and mineral water to her grandmother’s house-not because this was womyn’s work, mind you, but because the deed was generous and helped engender a feeling of communitiy. Futhermore, her grandmother was not sick, but rather was in full physical and mental health and was fully capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.
So Red Riding Hood set off with her basket through the woods. Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place and never set foot in it. Red Riding Hood, however, was confident enough in her own budding sexuality that such obvious Freudian imagery did not intimadate her.
On the way to Grandma’s house, Red Riding Hood was accosed by a wolf, who asked her what was in her basket. She replied, “Some healthful snacks for my grandmother, who is certainly capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.”
The wolf said, “You know, my dear, it isn’t safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone.”
Red Riding Hood said, “I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid, worldview. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.”
Red Riding Hood walked on along the main path. But, because his status outside society, had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the wolf knew a quicker route to Grandma’s house. He burst into the house and ate Grandma, an entirely valid course of action for a carnivore such as himself. Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist notions of what was masculine or feminine, he put on Grandma’s nightclothes and crawled into bed.
Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said, “Grandma, I have brought you some fat-free, sodium-free snacks to salute you in your role of a wise and nurturing matriarch.”
From the bed, the wolf said softly, “Come closer, child, so that I might see you.”
Red Riding Hood said, “Oh, I forgot you are as optically challenged as a bat. Grandma, what big eyes you have!”
“They have seen much, and forgiven much, my dear.”
“Grandma, what a big nose you have/only relatively, of course, and certainly attractive in its own way.”
“It has smelled much, and forgiven much, my dear.”
“Grandma, what big teeth you have!”
The wolf said, “I am happy with who I am and what I am,” and leaped out of bed. He grabbed Red Riding Hood in his claws, intent on devouring her. Red Riding Hood screamed, not out of alarm at the wolf’s apparent tendency toward cross-dressing, but because of his willful invasion of her personal space.
Her screams were heard by a passing woodchopper-person (or log-fuel technician, as he preferred to be called). When he burst into the cottage, he saw the melee and tried to intervene. But as he raised his ax, Red Riding Hood and the wolf both stopped.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” asked Red Riding Hood.
The woodchopper-person blinked and tried to answer, but no words came to him.
“Bursting in here like a Neanderthal, trusting your weapon to do your thinking for you!” she exclaimed. “Sexist! Speciesists!How dare you assume that womyn and wolves can’t solve their own problems without a man’s help!”
When she heard Red Riding Hood’s impassioned speech, Grandma jumped out of the wolf’s mouth, seized the woodchopper-person’s ax, and cut his head off. After this ordeal, Red Riding Hood, Grandma, and the wolf felt a certain commonality of purpose. The decided to set up an alternative household based on mutual respect and cooperation, and they lived together in the woods happily ever after.
James Finn Garner, Politically Correct Bedtime Stories.