Juan Herranz ›Blog of Juan Herranz

Books you can't miss...

19/08/2022

Ok, the title was a catch. Because what you are going to find here are some of the books by the person who maintains this blog. And who knows, maybe you'll want to read some of them while you're… You have them on paper and also as an ebook. Some of them went through editorials to use but …

juanherranz.com, best literary blog 2021

22/02/2022

It is not a question of self-aggrandizement, that too. But I couldn't stop posting it. My blog is now officially the best literature blog 2021 according to the 20blogs contest of the 20 minute newspaper. As indicated by the organization itself, it is the most relevant of the awards for ...

The arms of my cross -chapter I-

18/08/2020

April 20, 1969. My eightieth birthday

Today I am eighty years old.

Although it can never serve as an atonement for my terrifying sins, I can say that I am no longer the same, starting with my name. My name is Friedrich Strauss now.

Nor do I pretend to escape any justice, I cannot. In conscience I am paying my penalty every new day. "My struggle”Was the written testimony of my delirium while now I try to discern what is really left after the bitter awakening to my condemnation.

My debt to the justice of humans makes little sense to collect it from these old bones. I would let myself be devoured by the victims if I knew that it relieved the pain, that extreme and entrenched pain, old, stale, clinging to the daily lives of mothers, fathers, children, entire towns for whom the best thing would have been if I had not been born.

Lost generation

23/01/2024

We were wrong. What are you going to do. But we did it on purpose. They called us the lost generation because we never wanted to win. We agree to lose even before we have played. We were defeatists, fatalists; we fell into the easy descensus averni Of all the vices we spend our lives on We never got old or decadent, we were always so alive… and so dead.

We only talked about today because it was what we had left, a whole immense today of youth, vitality and banished dreams, exhausted, extirpated with drug surgery. Today was another day to burn in the rapid burning of life. Your life, my life, it was just a matter of time to burn like sheets of a frenzied calendar.

Fresh Banking

23/01/2024

The winter of the economy has arrived. Mattresses are once again sheltering people's savings, relying more on prosperous dreams than on the promises of 5% from mutual funds. It is no wonder, every day we see how banks study each other with the suspicious look of Clint Eastwood in "The Good, the Ugly and the Bad."

Kicking the world right

23/01/2024

The rock has surprising theories. Recently, having coffee in a bar and talking about the weather, an impromptu gathering has joined our group and, with airs of Nostradamus, has assured that climate change is due to the direct impact of so many satellites in the atmosphere. Rajoy's cousin would support this opinion, without a doubt.

Someone also told me recently that in a few years we will all have a chip inserted in the arm with which we will go through all kinds of controls. The aforementioned explained to me, absolutely convinced, that even to buy toilet paper at the Sabeco they will scan our arm to see if we have a balance.

Homeless

23/01/2024

Literary magazine «Ágora». 2004. Illustration: Víctor Mógica Compaired.

You can already find the best cardboard; Once the effect of the wine is diluted and you feel the ice sticking to your back again, that cardboard that you so eagerly sought stops passing through a comfortable blanket to become the refrigerator door. And you are inside the refrigerator, your defeated body is a lonely hake kept frozen in the dark night.

Although I also tell you one thing, once you survive your first freeze you never die, not even what you want the most. Normal people wonder how we survive on the streets in winter. It is the law of the strongest, the strongest among the weak.

Spirits of fire

28/02/2024

Literary magazine «Ágora». 2006. Illustration: Víctor Mógica Compaired.

The night marked its black hours with the quiet crackling of the wood in the fire. Eagle was looking at the stake for instructions for the combat of dawn, but his magical sense still did not manifest itself, with no news from the great Sioux spirits.