Acapulco Quotes

right' i said. 'but first, we need the car. and after that, the cocaine. and then the tape recorder, for special music, and some acapulco shirts.

Right,” I said. “But first we need the car. And after that, the cocaine. And then the tape recorder, for special music, and some Acapulco shirts.

[Fall, 1951] To me Acapulco is the detoxicating cure for all the evils of the city: ambition, vanity, quest for success in money, the continuous contagious presence of power-driven, obsessed individuals who want to become known, to be in the limelight, noticed, as if life among millions gave you a desperate illness, a need of rising above the crowd, being noticed, existing individually, singled out from a mass of ants and sheep. It has something to do with the presence of millions of anonymous faces, anonymous people, and the desperate ways of achieving distinction. Here, all this is nonsense. You exist by your smile and your presence. You exist for your joys and your relaxations. You exist in nature. You are part of the glittering sea, and part of the luscious, well-nourished plants, you are wedded to the sun, you are immersed in timelessness, only the present counts, and from the present you extract all the essences which can nourish the senses, and so the nerves are still, the mind is quiet, the nights are lullabies, the days are like gentle ovens in which infinitely wise sculptor’s hands re-form the lost contours, the lost sensations of the body. The body comes to life. Quests, pursuits of concrete securities of one kind or another lose all their importance. As you swim, you are washed of all the excrescences of so-called civilization, which includes the incapacity to be happy under any circumstances.

Do you want to die?' I question. I’ve asked her this once before, after Acapulco. She never answered me, but I knew it anyway. This light inside of her dims if you watch closely enough, and she’s searching and searching for something to ignite her spirit, a power to keep her alive.

Her hatred is a living succubus, vast enough and quick enough and wicked enough to crest up from her heart and take wing, to expand across the hundreds of miles between them, to engulf the whole city of Acapulco, to veil the room in which he's standing, to overshadow him and overcome him, to slip into his mouth and choke him from the inside out. She hates him so much she can murder him from sixteen hundred miles away, just by wishing for it.

The first time a head turned up by itself on the street in Acapulco, it was a big deal.

Right,” I said. “But first we need the car. And after that, the cocaine. And then the tape recorder, for special music, and some Acapulco

If a tourist mecca like Acapulco could fall, then nowhere in Mexico was safe.

Grofield said, “And you, knowing about the plan, have decided to go down to Acapulco on Friday and warn the General to be on the eary.” “On the what?

Emilia typed in her password and checked her inbox. A review by the Secretariat de Gobernación of drug cartel activities across Mexico. A report of a robbery in Acapulco’s poorest barrio neighborhood that would probably never be investigated. Notice of a reward for a child kidnapped in Ixtapa who was almost certainly dead by now. Her phone rang. It was the desk sergeant saying that a Señor Rooker wished to see her. Emilia avoided Rico’s eye as she said, yes, the sergeant could let el señor pass into the detectives’ area. A minute later Rucker was standing by her desk, sweat beaded on his forehead. The starched collar of his shirt was damp. “There’s a head,” he said breathlessly. “Someone’s head in a bucket on the hood of my car.

Acapulco always had a heart for extravagance, so when at last she made her fall from grace, she did so with all the spectacular pageantry the world had come to expect of her. The cartels painted the town red.

Hickock whistled and rolled his eyes. "Wow!" he said, and then, summoning his talent for something very like total recall, he began an account of the long ride--the approximately ten thousand miles he and Smith had covered in the past six weeks. He talked for an hour and twenty-five minutes--from two-fifty to four-fifteen--and told, while Nye attempted to list them, of highways and hotels, motels, rivers, towns, and cities, a chorus of entwining names: Apache, El Paso, Corpus Christi, Santillo, San Luis Potosi, Acapulco, San Diego, Dallas, Omaha, Sweetwater, Stillwater, Tenville Junction, Tallahassee, Needles, Miami, Hotel Nuevo Waldorf, Somerset Hotel, Hotel Simone, Arrowhead Motel, Cherokee Motel, and many, many more. He gave them the name of the man in Mexico to whom he'd sold his own 1940 Chevrolet, and confessed that he had stolen a newer model in Iowa.

—Me voy a morir de amor —dije riendo una tarde que caminábamos mojando los pies en el agua tibia. En mi miedo de siempre la muerta era yo y hasta me parecía romántico dejarlo con la ausencia, inventando mis cualidades, sintiendo un hueco en el cuerpo, buscándome en las cosas que tuvimos juntos. Muchas veces imaginé a Carlos llorándome, matando a Andrés, enloquecido. Nunca muerto. Horas pasaba en Acapulco mirando al mar, con la mano de Alonso sobre una de mis piernas y recordando a Vives: —Nadie se muere de amor, Catalina, ni aunque quisiéramos —había dicho.

UNA VISTA AÉREA Desde arriba Insurgentes es sólo una amplia avenida que corta la ciudad de México de Norte a Sur repleta de pequeños autos. Se dice que es la vía más grande del mudo porque de un lado desemboca en Acapulco y del otro en Nuevo Laredo pero, en realidad, si uniéramos en línea recta todas las calles llamadas Insurgentes en todo el país, la avenida continuaría hasta llegar a las costas de Hawaii. Insurgentes está enrollada por todo el país como un laberinto. Todos los años, alguien le pone ese nombre a alguna calle de una ciudad en construcción y se siente original. Ni siquiera la ciudad de México ha evitado esa repetición: entre 1985 y 1995, aparecieron veintitrés calles, bulevares, callejones, privadas, prolongaciones y retornos llamados Insurgentes. En el futuro todas las rutas de México terminarán por llamarse así. Caminaremos sin rumbo, doblando a la izquierda y derecha sobre Insurgentes, preguntándonos ¿Dónde estoy?

They were the cars at the fair that were whirling around her; no, they were the planets, while the sun stood, burning and spinning and guttering in the centre; here they came again, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto; but they were not planets, for it was not the merry-go-round at all, but the Ferris wheel, they were constellations, in the hub of which, like a great cold eye, burned Polaris, and round and round it here they went: Cassiopeia, Cepheus, the Lynx, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, and the Dragon; yet they were not constellations, but, somehow, myriads of beautiful butterflies, she was sailing into Acapulco harbour through a hurricane of beautiful butterflies, zigzagging overhead and endlessly vanishing astern over the sea, the sea, rough and pure, the long dawn rollers advancing, rising, and crashing down to glide in colourless ellipses over the sand, sinking, sinking, someone was calling her name far away and she remembered, they were in a dark wood, she heard the wind and the rain rushing through the forest and saw the tremours of lightning shuddering through the heavens and the horse—great God, the horse—and would this scene repeat itself endlessly and forever?—the horse, rearing, poised over her, petrified in midair, a statue, somebody was sitting on the statue, it was Yvonne Griffaton, no, it was the statue of Huerta, the drunkard, the murderer, it was the Consul, or it was a mechanical horse on the merry-go-round, the carrousel, but the carrousel had stopped and she was in a ravine down which a million horses were thundering towards her, and she must escape, through the friendly forest to their house, their little home by the sea.

—Zihuatanejo —lo dijo pronunciando la palabra con una lentitud musical—. Allá abajo, en México. Es un pequeño lugar que queda a unos treinta kilómetros de Playa Azul. Unos ciento sesenta kilómetros al noroeste de Acapulco, en la costa del Pacífico. ¿Sabes lo que dicen los mexicanos del Pacífico? Le dije que no lo sabía. —Dicen que no tiene memoria. Y precisamente por eso. Red, quiero acabar allí mis días. En un lugar cálido y sin memoria.

years through college in Mexico City. Her dreams had been populated by the same whipped current of ocean air, the same bright, liquid colors, the same thrumming beats and aromas of her childhood, the same languorous swaying of hips that had always defined the pace of life here in this place she knew so well. Sure, there had been new violence, an unfamiliar hitch of anxiety. Sure, crime was on the rise. But until that morning, the truth had felt insulated beneath the illusory film of Acapulco’s previous immunity.

Η συνθήκη του έρωτα λήγει ερήμην μας. Όσες φορές κι αν τον ζήσουμε άλλες τόσες θα προσπαθούμε να τον παρατείνουμε πέρα από το τέλος του. Αλλά τότε, μέσα από την καθημερινότητα και τη λογική που θα έχει επιστρέψει θα επιχειρήσουμε συνειδητά ή όχι να διεκδικήσουμε το κομμάτι του εαυτού μας που είχαμε χάσει.

Deve-se neste momento - relacionando-a com certas informações do dicionário - formular ainda a pergunta: o que são afinal os bens da vida humana? Quem nos diz que um determinado bem é superior ou inferior? Há lacunas desagradáveis nos dicionários, até nos mais conhecidos. Pode-se demonstrar que há pessoas para quem DM 2,5 são um bem muito superior a qualquer outra vida humana, com excepção da deles, e há até outros que, por amor a um bocado de chouriço de sangue, que conseguem ou não apanhar, arriscam sem hesitação os bens das mulheres e dos filhos, como, por exemplo: uma vida familiar alegre e a presença de um pai ao menos uma vez radiante. E que significado tem esse bem, que louvamos sob o nome de F.(Felicidade)? Que diabo, este está bem perto da F., se consegue juntar as três ou quatro beatas que chegam para ele fazer outro cigarro ou se pode beber o resto de Vermute de uma garrafa que se deitou fora, aquele precisa para ser feliz durante cerca de dez minutos - pelo menos segundo o costume ocidental de amor a ritmo acelerado-, mais precisamente: para estar ràpidamente com a pessoa que naquele momento deseja, precisa de um avião a jacto particular, no qual voa entre o pequeno-almoço e o chá da tarde, sem que a pessoa que legal e religiosamente é a sua E.(Esperança) dê por isso, até Roma ou Estocolmo ou (neste caso precisa do tempo até ao pequeno-almoço do dia seguinte) até Acapulco - para ter relações com a ou o desejado - homem-com-homem, mulher-com-mulher ou simplesmente homem-com-mulher.

Does his family have money?" I asked. "No, Ulises's family doesn't have money," said Requena. "Actually, the only family he has is his mother, right? Or at least I've never heard of anyone else." "I know his whole family," said Pancho. "I knew Ulises Lima long before any of you, long before Belano, and his mother is the only family he has. He's broke, that I can promise you." "Then how could he finance two issues of a magazine?" "Selling weed," said Pancho. The other two were quiet, but they didn't deny it. "I can't believe it," I said. "Well, it's true. The money comes from marijuana." "Shit." "He goes and gets it in Acapulco and then he delivers it to his clients in Mexico City." "Shut up, Pancho," said Barrios. "Why should I shut up? The kid's a fucking visceral realist, isn't he? So why do I have to shut up?

Big anniversary coming up for you next year.” I nodded. Next year would make me a thirty-year man. Sixty per cent of my life spent in Shawshank State Prison. “Think you’ll ever get out?” “Sure. When I have a long white beard and just about three marbles left rolling around upstairs.” He smiled a little and then turned his face up into the sun again, his eyes closed. “Feels good.” “I think it always does when you know the damn winter’s almost right on top of you.” He nodded, and we were silent for awhile. “When I get out of here,” Andy said finally, “I’m going where it’s warm all the time.” He spoke with such calm assurance you would have thought he had only a month or so left to serve. “You know where I’m goin, Red?” “Nope.” “Zihuatanejo,” he said, rolling the word softly from his tongue like music. “Down in Mexico. It’s a little place maybe twenty miles from Playa Azul and Mexico Highway Thirty-seven. It’s a hundred miles northwest of Acapulco on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific?” I told him I didn’t. “They say it has no memory. And that’s where I want to finish out my life, Red. In a warm place that has no memory.

Acapulco’da bir sahil barında tatlı okyanus esintisinin keyfini çıkardığımızı varsayalım. Yanında iki limon dilimiyle buz gibi iki Corona birası geliyor önümüze. Limonları sıkıp şişelerimizin ağzına tıkıştırıyor ve şişeleri ters çevirip o hoş fışırtı sesini duyana dek bekledikten sonra, biralarımızı yudumluyoruz. Şerefe. Ama önce, çok seçenekli bir soruyla kafanızı ütüleyeyim. Az önce yaptığımızı Corona bira-limon ritüelinin nereden çıktığı hakkında bir fikriniz var mı? A) Birayı limon dilimiyle içmek biranın tadını güzelleştirdiği için, bu Corona içerken kullanılan Latin kültürüne özgü bir yöntemdir. B) Limon, şişeleme ve sevkiyat sırasında şişede oluşabilecek bakterileri yok edeceği için, bu mikroplara karşı geliştirilmiş eski bir Orta Amerika alışkanlığından kaynaklanan bir ritüeldir. Ve son olarak, C) Corona-limon ritüeli ilk olarak 1981 yılında adı bilinmeyen bir restoranda çalışan bir barmenin arkadaşıyla bir Corona şişesinin ağzına bir limon dilimi tıkarsa bar müşterilerinin kendisini taklit edip etmeyeceği üzerine bahse tutuşmasından çıkmış bir ritüeldir. Tahmininiz üçüncü seçenekse, doğru bildiniz. Aslında sakin bir gecede bir barmenin rastgele uydurduğu otuz yıllık geçmişi bile olmayan bu basit ritüelin Corona’nın ABD pazarında Heineken’e yetişmesine katkı yaptığı düşünülüyor.

Hickock whistled and rolled his eyes. "Wow!" he said, and then, summoning his talent for something very like total recall, he began an account of the long ride--the approximately ten thousand miles he and Smith had covered in the past six weeks. He talked for an hour and twenty-five minutes--from two-fifty to four-fifteen--and told, while Nye attempted to list them, of highways and hotels, motels, rivers, towns, and cities, a chorus of entwining names: Apache, El Paso, Corpus Christi, Santillo, San Luis Potosi, Acapulco, San Diego, Dallas, Omaha, Sweetwater, Stillwater, Tenville Junction, Tallahassee, Needles, Miami, Hotel Nuevo Waldorf, Somerset Hotel, Hotel Simone, Arrowhead Motel, Cherokee Motel, and many, many more. He gave them the name of the man in Mexico to whom he'd sold his own 1940 Chevrolet, and confessed that he had stolen a newer model in Iowa. He described persons he and his partner had met: a Mexican widow, rich and sexy; Otto, a German “millionaire”; a “swish” pair of Negro prizefighters driving a “swish” lavender Cadillac; the blind proprietor of a Florida rattlesnake farm; a dying old man and his grandson; and others. And when he had finished he sat with folded arms and a pleased smile, as though waiting to be commended for the humor, the clarity, and the candor of his traveler’s tale.

I well remember the first great hemp shop that was opened in San Francisco around 1976. It was essentially a long wooden bar with stools for the customers. On the bar itself were a few large crocks containing the basic and cheaper forms of the weed—Panama Red, Acapulco Gold, Indian Ganja, and Domestic Green. But against the wall behind the bar stood a long cabinet furnished with hundreds of small drawers that a local guitar maker had decorated with intricate ivory inlays in the Italian style. Each drawer carried a label indicating the precise field and year of the product, so that one could purchase all the different varieties from Mexico, Lebanon, Morocco, Egypt, India, and Vietnam, as well as the carefully tended plants of devout cannabinologists here at home. Business was conducted with leisure and courtesy, and the salesmen offered small samples for testing at the bar, along with sensitive and expert discussion of their special effects. I might add that the stronger psychedelics, such as LSD, were coming to be used only rarely—for psychotherapy, for retreats in religious institutions, and in our special hospitals for the dying.

eloped. Claire and Ramsey just did it in Acapulco, that was all. Anabel was the flower girl. Except that she ate all the flowers just before the ceremony. Then she broke the basket that was supposed to hold them. Then she knocked over the floral arrangements in the back of the church.

Mayhem and uncertainty in Mexico caused the US State Department to devise, in 2018, a new, four-tier advisory system for travelers to the country, to replace the previous system of unspecific travel warnings and travel alerts: Level 1, Exercise Normal Precautions (much of Mexico); Level 2, Exercise Increased Caution (Cancún, Cozumel, Mexico City); Level 3, Reconsider Travel (Guadalajara, Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco); and Level 4, Do Not Travel (Acapulco, Zihuatanejo, Taxco).

En También de dolor se canta tuvo como coprotagonista a Irma Dorantes. En esta cinta, Pedro realiza algunas imitaciones de Emilio Tuero, Tito Guízar y del propio Pedro Vargas, precisamente con el Tenor Continental. “La negra noche” fue la canción de esa escena, ahora de antología. Debe destacarse que siempre hubo una gran amistad y respeto entre estos tocayos, quienes compartieron varios escenarios, como el teatro Million Dollar de Los Angeles. En esa cinta también canta “La barca de Guaymas”, casi un himno en las hermosas tierras sonorenses. Hay también una intervención única del excepcional comediante Germán Valdés, Tin Tan, quien se dirigía a su amigo Pedro diciéndole: “¿Qué pasa mi ídolo?”. Tin Tan y Pedro fueron grandes amigos y admiradores recíprocos del trabajo de cada uno, incluso en algunas temporadas coincidieron en el teatro Follies Bergere. Ambos compartían algunas aficiones. Sobre esto se sabe que, en alguna ocasión, Tin Tan, quien disfrutaba de veras de las delicias del mar, invitó a Pedro a gozar del puerto y bahías de Acapulco, en su yate.

I saw a television sketch that, with some variations, might seem familiar in many households. A husband is watching television and his wife if trying to engage him in conversation: Wife: Dear, the plumber didn’t come to fix the leak behind the water heater today. Husband: Uh-huh. Wife: The pipe burst today and flooded the basement. Husband: Quiet. It’s third down and goal to go. Wife: Some of the wiring got wet and almost electrocuted Fluffy. Husband: Darn it! Touchdown. Wife: The vet says he’ll be better in a week. Husband: Can you get me a Coke? Wife: The plumber told me that he was happy that our pipe broke because now he can afford to go on vacation. Husband: Aren’t you listening? I said I could use a Coke! Wife: And Stanley, I’m leaving you. The plumber and I are flying to Acapulco in the morning. Husband: Can’t you please stop all that yakking and get me a Coke? The trouble around here is that nobody ever listens to me. 5.

Los Cervera tenían una mitología más compleja que la griega: tíos con aventuras, tías con pasados inhóspitos por los que Emiliano y Pancho transitaban como por un panteón de amigos cercanos. Todo en el pasado había sido digno de recordarse, todo en la vida era un ideal inalcanzable, al que uno, al mismo tiempo, pertenecía y no. Podía pasar tardes enteras escuchando del tío que vino de Europa y fue cantante de ópera en la Met de Nueva York, para luego llegar a Acapulco a ganar competencias de clavados en la Quebrada. Sus historias eran como acordeones, se iban desdoblando, con participación de todos. Pancho apretaba un botón, Emiliano y Sandra podían contar historias que saltaban de un familiar remoto a otro sin parar, hasta que se nos hacía de noche con el café frío en la mesa donde nos habíamos sentado a comer. Yo escuchaba, como quien bebe agua dulce, mientras Paloma bostezaba. Yo me aferraba a la complejidad de la parentela de Emiliano como a un territorio mítico al que se podía ir de vacaciones. Luego repetíamos el chiste en casa de mi mamá, sentados alrededor de la mesa de su cocina, hilábamos fino hasta que se nos acababan las conexiones narrativas y la luz del día. Cuando

Mi ansiedad huele a vómito

Mi ansiedad huele a vómito.

She ran away from home at age seventeen and hooked up with three outlaw bikers who gang-raped her on the way to Sturgis. She had an abortion in Memphis and spent three months in jail for soliciting at a truck stop on I-40. The next two stops were Big D and New Orleans and runway gigs with a G-string and pasties, then Acapulco and Vegas with oilmen who could buy Third World countries with their credit cards. Miami was even more lucrative. She went to work for a former CIA agent turned political operative who set up cameras in hotel rooms and blackmailed corporate executives and Washington insiders. She helped destroy careers and lives and woke up one morning next to the corpse of a married man who died from an overdose in his sleep and whose family she had to face at the police station. One week later, she swallowed half a bottle of downers, turned on the gas in the oven, and stuck her head in. Three weeks later, she slashed her wrists. One month after that, she helped a pimp roll a blind man. It’s not the kind of personal history you forget.

said, “All right, I give up. We have to drive to Acapulco, and we have to take the only road, and I don’t see how we’re going to get there.” “What we’ll do,” he said, “is drive as far as Taxco, and then scout the territory. We can’t make plans of our own until we know how they’re set up. And they’ve got to be south of Taxco,

Up over the mountain east of town and down the other side to El Marqués, in its own way a more exclusive and expensive resort than Acapulco next door. El Marques, with its peculiar long beach of gray sand the color

Acapulco, «el paraje de las cañas grandes» en idioma mexica,

La mejor idea de esta situación nos la da un viajero italiano, Gemelli Carreri, allá por el año de 1697: En cuanto a la ciudad de Acapulco, me parece que debería dársele el nombre de humilde aldea de pescadores mejor que el engañoso de primer mercado del mar del Sur y de la China, pues sus casas son bajas y viles y hechas de madera, barro y paja.