by Benedetti, translation by Katya Rascovsky

Táctica y estrategia Mi táctica es       mirarte aprender como sos quererte como sos mi táctica es       hablarte y escucharte construir con palabras un puente indestructible mi táctica es quedarme en tu recuerdo no sé cómo ni sé con qué pretexto pero quedarme en vos mi táctica es       ser franco y saber que sos franca y que no nos vendamos simulacros para que entre los dos no haya telón       ni abismos mi estrategia es en cambio más profunda y más       simple mi estrategia es que un día cualquiera no sé cómo ni sé con qué pretexto por fin me necesites

Tactic and Strategy My tactic is       to look at you learn how you are love you as you are my tactic is       to talk to you and listen build with words an indestructible bridge my tactic is to remain in your memory I don’t know how nor with what pretext but to remain in you my tactic is       to be frank and know that you are frank so we don’t sell ourselves simulations so that between us there is no curtain       nor abyss my strategy is in contrast deeper and more       simple my strategy is that one ordinary day I don’t know how nor with what pretext you finally need me

by Deerhoof

Obsession you’re reading my mind, how sad
Obsession you’re reading my mind, how bad

Paranoia boogie oogie come to ooze
Paranoia boogie oogie come to ooze

Paranoia boogie oogie come to ooze
Paranoia boogie oogie come to ooze

Animal mind crossing the line, sigh
Animal mind crossing the line, sigh

Obsession you’re reading my mind, how sad
Paranoia boogie oogie come to ooze
Animal mind crossing the line, sigh
Animal mind crossing the line, sigh

(an excerpt) by John Keats (1795–1821)

What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men’s knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia’s countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty’s tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.