Monday, December 4, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Is It Normal For Penis To Be Different Shades
(Poppy, Alphonse Mucha)
As things tend to be a lament
long as long as an endless
smile at times like poetry
as wanted to be to these pages as often
opium dreams
sweeping aerial views and more wildly divine
all fantasies ...
The pipe dream of a muse
invented in the verses of a thousand poets also invented
on the wings of a bird, the strokes
Mucha, a dream
the
After
is nothing more than a small chunk of death
A pipe dream which I do not know if I ever wake up again ...
soon friends
My Kiss Opium Poppy
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
What Do Implantation Period Look Like
Quid pro Quo Fata Morgana
("Our current picture," 1942 David Alfaro Siqueiros)
I give, I give to receive and ask all of you, ask the entire time
on in your soles,
the sound of your passions underground
ask as much as I give you both if I
give you the uncontrollable fury of my songs that you want
chord angry lover in dealing with my wings.
crazy I'll give my insights,
of those that arise when you drink
points each time I leave the lucidity to escape jets
to demand from you that analgesia of lines displayed in your paintings
where all the causes and effects
and I can see at a distance with the telescope of my astonishment. I'm giving my
life sentences, songs
my remote nebulae,
the flame of each of my
fires that continue to exist
must rise and dance and you want every drop pearl you
forehead in the heat your days dissolving
towing time and anxiety.
I will give you the sound of my waves, you
poet without the discipline of time,
give you my night breeze
embroidering each of my bright moments of divine inspiration and you
the bitter aroma of this gin to break night,
I will give this dance anesthesia
sad and secret pleasure you and forgive everything.
And I give you everything
to consume my days in this liturgy is
habits that will not give up your daily delivery
burning and walking on the margins of all delusions
Where condemn you to give me all the dreams of the world And I'll give you
the best flight propulsion
poetry of my opium Endless verses. 
("Our current picture," 1942 David Alfaro Siqueiros) I give, I give to receive and ask all of you, ask the entire time
on in your soles,
the sound of your passions underground
ask as much as I give you both if I
give you the uncontrollable fury of my songs that you want
chord angry lover in dealing with my wings.
crazy I'll give my insights,
of those that arise when you drink
points each time I leave the lucidity to escape jets
to demand from you that analgesia of lines displayed in your paintings
where all the causes and effects
and I can see at a distance with the telescope of my astonishment. I'm giving my
life sentences, songs
my remote nebulae,
the flame of each of my
fires that continue to exist
must rise and dance and you want every drop pearl you
forehead in the heat your days dissolving
towing time and anxiety.
I will give you the sound of my waves, you
poet without the discipline of time,
give you my night breeze
embroidering each of my bright moments of divine inspiration and you
the bitter aroma of this gin to break night,
I will give this dance anesthesia
sad and secret pleasure you and forgive everything.
And I give you everything
to consume my days in this liturgy is
habits that will not give up your daily delivery
burning and walking on the margins of all delusions
Where condemn you to give me all the dreams of the world And I'll give you
the best flight propulsion
poetry of my opium Endless verses.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Pilsner Urquell Where Can I Order
(The Painter and His Muse, Mercedes Vandendorpe) you worry my skinny
not know that my fingers have
you sprouted my most beautiful lyrics. That
tumbling both have succumbed to order your embrace
just only your time, just your kisses.
do you worry when the wind whipping us
charges at the same time and see,
we stand ...
sad Do not let me through this October
timid leaning spring
you know, one of these close this Pandora's box and after the verses
not be stripped more than your face and mine
fragmented and inflated memories of verses ...
We lose some time on our streets to keep spinning
between spells this story unleashed
this trovar of greedy impulses that we have become.
Grieve not my sun
not feel empty, you see,
any day I can write to you with the usual intensity.
is true that life now weighs a little more than usual
you crave a warm body
much as I wish these muses declaims
and I are in sections, so elusive.
You know I'm still not convinced much of your music
invading my senses
walking disturbs me that love to lavish
and how few times I have felt ... Come
kiss you
curled in my lap while I sing the song without the habit
corrupted me. And violent
emerging from my city to yours
and I have to say without fear
no more kisses
that I will cherish.
Tuesday, October 3, 2006
What Year Was My Inland Carbine Made?
Details
(Fata Morgana, Zdenek Kopac) 
(Fata Morgana, Zdenek Kopac)
I conjured in my entresueño lethargy hot day when the wind brought me back your image gifted and nomadic between flashes of light over a thousand stones scorching.
yet believe I saw in the distance, mirroring between the sands of my nostalgia as the perfect deception of the best of my abyss.
I could see in the verses of your muse, dreaming in my foggy images, burning between the illusions of my mind and searching arpeggios thousand cicadas the songs that I have promised.
Everything was written when I saw you in the mist of these arenas do not follow any illusion that it was not your storm, looking for the exit from the streets of mirrors with the wind as encouragement to all crumbled before my eyes liquid silence later in the desert.
evoked until you find yourself in the fullness of this immaculate universal silence on these feelings pilgrims between illusions of knowing myself, where the line is the slogan of your hands and mine, where your kisses are not only the hypnotic feeling that makes me to drink without feeling like I can be the face of mortal wound that invite me to be.
I've seen and know and feel when there are more than your hands that have to refresh my skin starting sun while the wind does not move, while stopping time in the vastness of the desert and I dry these pious tears dry without leaving any trace of memory. And if this
false or some, if not more than the fata morgana of my desires, will sooner or later be deciphered between the hot sand dunes and winding paths thousand of my letters and yours, even if others tell Jack ashore, I at least ... I can see you.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Homemade Automatic Watering System For Rabbits
He recorded
(Green, Lernia Beule)
express my love leave out all logic
avatar of fate that decided to become one of our utopias
, your genius
irreverent
suspending my angel, our mutual
and our perfect swim all.
leave on record my failures,
of unsurpassed,
of your kisses, my dreams
transcribed in truth, the crazy
sentenced
magic and bringing me to fly
sometimes so far from your arms. He recorded
vices
of your pleasures and my faults
the years by your side,
of the brave fight to have you, the stoic
find you and hold you find
port pain and the mystery of your laughter.
crime recorded the dream with
of your hands in my hair
of my fingers on your back. He recorded
our differences,
of your numbers and my lyrics
of your equations and my songs
your realities and my fantasies
your brilliant mind, engineer
soles of your methods, and my tricks
of your code and my gospel. He recorded
need you,
can not sleep every night that I have you, your food
dashing
pouring into my womb
whole miracle of genesis
can not leave you nor contemplate. He recorded
and fiercely loving
decree as I have done, simply and
furiously with my terrors and your peace
decree love, you know
forever ... 
(Green, Lernia Beule) express my love leave out all logic
avatar of fate that decided to become one of our utopias
, your genius
irreverent
suspending my angel, our mutual
and our perfect swim all.
leave on record my failures,
of unsurpassed,
of your kisses, my dreams
transcribed in truth, the crazy
sentenced
magic and bringing me to fly
sometimes so far from your arms. He recorded
vices
of your pleasures and my faults
the years by your side,
of the brave fight to have you, the stoic
find you and hold you find
port pain and the mystery of your laughter.
crime recorded the dream with
of your hands in my hair
of my fingers on your back. He recorded
our differences,
of your numbers and my lyrics
of your equations and my songs
your realities and my fantasies
your brilliant mind, engineer
soles of your methods, and my tricks
of your code and my gospel. He recorded
need you,
can not sleep every night that I have you, your food
dashing
pouring into my womb
whole miracle of genesis
can not leave you nor contemplate. He recorded
and fiercely loving
decree as I have done, simply and
furiously with my terrors and your peace
decree love, you know
forever ...
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Fitted Plastic Car Seat Covers
Astrolabe
He looked this morning like every day Central giant window that building. As if it were a rite of release for a long time his eyes rested on the pavement far ... brought coffee to his lips in the daily routine and there was leaning on the glass in their area of \u200b\u200bmurky ink was impossible to imagine a more cruel torment a life destined for closure.
watched people walking down the sidewalk and was surprised again the smallness of human being, breathed deeply and closed his eyes when he began to feel a rumor known, as the sound of waves pounding on ears and chest the embers of a dream immemorial.
no surprise and suddenly shaken by an earthquake sprinkling salt hidden face looked up and saw that all was in place. He tried to stare at the horizon, surrounded by tall buildings and then eventually stopped all the time he wanted, and be led by that dream so real guided by maps of his power, he saw himself as evoking memories of a trip.
there was then in the middle of the city, as in a desired spell, was suddenly out of time on a ship, his hands and his eyes looked around as if to convince himself of the reality of his vision, but actually began to fade in the midst of a powerful vortex of salt and ocean ... I could not see buildings or desks or sidewalks crowded ... only his ship, the vast ocean, and he commanded a rudder.
He wondered if this would be another of his many dreams to escape from there, so real, so sound, until finally, like reciting aloud the last lines of a goodbye letter still kept his eyes fixed on some point horizon.
And so decided to take that flight and realized he would not return.
was given entirely to the fascinating adventure of taming the waters to sail further offshore than nothing. Took the helm and set out to sail the ocean violent as a mythical creature, like an animal sea \u200b\u200bwith all the desires that fit between a bow and stern ... and sailed passion because passion was over he owned, sailed drowned in his own fervor and accustomed to their invisibility did nothing but laugh out loud in the midst of furious outbursts of water to enjoy in this marvelous reality following the course of stars beginning to shine in the brilliance of the night and saw in them the designated route of his strange journey ...
and sailed, sailed smiling at the wonder and magic and all the dreams of the world, sailed to daylight popping the water against the sky, feeling angry at the smell of the waves the magnificence of his madness, dissolving in the rough surf all the miseries of their pains and sailed into the quiet night to feel so alone in the silence of the stars recovering from his own happiness, sailed by joining the pieces of his story disjointed cradled in the gentle waves on the border lost the ocean ...
And saw happen to all women who had loved and all the children who never have and all the cities would ever know, sailed over the gold of the night, sailed violent dancing with the turbulent ocean to carry who knows what port the ravages of his heart.
seemed beyond all, untouchable, and his face was something I had to draw more to do with happiness than with madness, he seemed only to that moment, as if all its previous existence had vanished and the sea had awakened just knowing all the rituals, myths and secrets of the world, denying prudence face the ocean of pearls that inspired a supernatural courage.
And so it went sailing upwind along the course of the waves drunk prisoner and free feeling that spell without explanation and heart drowned in this sea of \u200b\u200bsilence.
Nobody knew well how much did your dream when he began to laugh like a madman in the virtuosity that he marveled at the world that seemed centuries away, seemed to have dissolved just looking at the sky in its infinite calm the waves oscillate like a pendulum drowned in his delirium and who saw him in that smile I could feel some vestige of tenderness in the midst of his loneliness unconditional and perfect.
And so paralyzed in the torpor of their sacrifice and inspired by their frenetic madness finally found in the midst of chaos the perfect order, that he had long coveted, that it could not be casual. Confused
then with the sound of thunder dark horizon with sea salt from stinging their eyes, the smile and the sun shimmering on the skin sticking finally breathed a sigh of release off toward the window of its central building with an eye on the horizon yet evaporated.
Even with the lengthy time he heard the cries warning him or rubbing of the glass cutting the skin and giving it one step further into the magnetism of that sea awful color mirror, smiled, happy with the constellation of their lives gathered at the precise moment, laughing in the joy of his delirium, he fell into the void to vent at last in the madness of the sea all the tears from his chest. 
He looked this morning like every day Central giant window that building. As if it were a rite of release for a long time his eyes rested on the pavement far ... brought coffee to his lips in the daily routine and there was leaning on the glass in their area of \u200b\u200bmurky ink was impossible to imagine a more cruel torment a life destined for closure.
watched people walking down the sidewalk and was surprised again the smallness of human being, breathed deeply and closed his eyes when he began to feel a rumor known, as the sound of waves pounding on ears and chest the embers of a dream immemorial.
no surprise and suddenly shaken by an earthquake sprinkling salt hidden face looked up and saw that all was in place. He tried to stare at the horizon, surrounded by tall buildings and then eventually stopped all the time he wanted, and be led by that dream so real guided by maps of his power, he saw himself as evoking memories of a trip.
there was then in the middle of the city, as in a desired spell, was suddenly out of time on a ship, his hands and his eyes looked around as if to convince himself of the reality of his vision, but actually began to fade in the midst of a powerful vortex of salt and ocean ... I could not see buildings or desks or sidewalks crowded ... only his ship, the vast ocean, and he commanded a rudder.
He wondered if this would be another of his many dreams to escape from there, so real, so sound, until finally, like reciting aloud the last lines of a goodbye letter still kept his eyes fixed on some point horizon.
And so decided to take that flight and realized he would not return.
was given entirely to the fascinating adventure of taming the waters to sail further offshore than nothing. Took the helm and set out to sail the ocean violent as a mythical creature, like an animal sea \u200b\u200bwith all the desires that fit between a bow and stern ... and sailed passion because passion was over he owned, sailed drowned in his own fervor and accustomed to their invisibility did nothing but laugh out loud in the midst of furious outbursts of water to enjoy in this marvelous reality following the course of stars beginning to shine in the brilliance of the night and saw in them the designated route of his strange journey ...
and sailed, sailed smiling at the wonder and magic and all the dreams of the world, sailed to daylight popping the water against the sky, feeling angry at the smell of the waves the magnificence of his madness, dissolving in the rough surf all the miseries of their pains and sailed into the quiet night to feel so alone in the silence of the stars recovering from his own happiness, sailed by joining the pieces of his story disjointed cradled in the gentle waves on the border lost the ocean ...
And saw happen to all women who had loved and all the children who never have and all the cities would ever know, sailed over the gold of the night, sailed violent dancing with the turbulent ocean to carry who knows what port the ravages of his heart.
seemed beyond all, untouchable, and his face was something I had to draw more to do with happiness than with madness, he seemed only to that moment, as if all its previous existence had vanished and the sea had awakened just knowing all the rituals, myths and secrets of the world, denying prudence face the ocean of pearls that inspired a supernatural courage.
And so it went sailing upwind along the course of the waves drunk prisoner and free feeling that spell without explanation and heart drowned in this sea of \u200b\u200bsilence.
Nobody knew well how much did your dream when he began to laugh like a madman in the virtuosity that he marveled at the world that seemed centuries away, seemed to have dissolved just looking at the sky in its infinite calm the waves oscillate like a pendulum drowned in his delirium and who saw him in that smile I could feel some vestige of tenderness in the midst of his loneliness unconditional and perfect.
And so paralyzed in the torpor of their sacrifice and inspired by their frenetic madness finally found in the midst of chaos the perfect order, that he had long coveted, that it could not be casual. Confused
then with the sound of thunder dark horizon with sea salt from stinging their eyes, the smile and the sun shimmering on the skin sticking finally breathed a sigh of release off toward the window of its central building with an eye on the horizon yet evaporated.
Even with the lengthy time he heard the cries warning him or rubbing of the glass cutting the skin and giving it one step further into the magnetism of that sea awful color mirror, smiled, happy with the constellation of their lives gathered at the precise moment, laughing in the joy of his delirium, he fell into the void to vent at last in the madness of the sea all the tears from his chest.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Lower Stomach Star Trail Tattoo
Poetry Train ... Between the Lines and Circumlocution
Now is the train that crosses all boundaries that clearing distances, about us, which brings us closer together beyond the seas, oceans and continents immense. This time coming
their wagons loaded with Madness, the madness in many languages, the madness of the muses singing and inspiring verses from the madness that is wrong and poetry, joy and terror.
Madness, yours, mine.
His crew speaks of the most beautiful letters, hot imaginations of poets dreamed between fables and sorrows ... They are:
Qymera Making love in every line
Peru Hi-Fi Chronicles in Poetry pure Uruguay Noa
pen in his hands dance. Spain
Carlos Luna Her mission is estremecerte.Venezuela
Rafael P. An imagination. Spain
Blue Sky will fly the sky fantasy. Mexico
In Opium Poppy's Poetry Kat Chile
Tenderness made woman. Rodolfo
Panama Exquisite Natiello lap his poems. Argentina
Dilaca Inside Argentina
words Cicindela Zida'ya retreating between letters. Chile
Darilea Their world is different. Spain
Glauca Wears green. Spain
Nosferatu The night transforms. Argentina
Rebel Passion overwhelmed. Spain
Tiptoeing Oceanica. Lila Magritte Spain
Animal captive.
The versógrafo Photographing your mind. Spain
glass dome master conjugation. Spain
Lovesick Spain Curémoslo reading
Loose Minds Freedom of thought. Max Ballester Argentina
Lost Argentina
Paulina and Marco Two in one word. Chile Women
Fortunata lyrics. Spain
The loft feelings Spain Joint
Skin The magician of eroticism Mexico Gatto
Ronroneando to life efe
Colombia Sensuality to the surface. Spain
Love Letters ... Your
Spain Inside My Soul
Innocence lost. The awakening of life. Spain
The magic circle. Addiction sexualChile
Idiot His voice ... The lyrics
Helmet dreams and photographs Haikus Uruguay
Druid witches and the soul of poetry Brisa Spain
The tenderness was born in Spain
hands Colombine Spain
transparencies Yole In search of a siren Spain
Log Dive into crystal waters. Argentina
Where do you keep the pebble vulnerable to sanity? And where your most precious stone, jewel of Love? (Hi Fi Chronicles)
Perhaps the verses of a poet using expired the role of his poem as a weapon of suicide. (Noa)
Or maybe you are at the foot of your Muse, I do not die, nor do I live with that weapon to shoot you provided, these letters of love, (Carlos Luna)
not are but the tense prison fuse that leads me narrow the progressive alienation (Rafael PQ)
travels from where it hurt
regret with the decision of that love conquered by nonsense ... (Sky Blue)
Oh madness !, I've drunk as ragweed poured into the safety of the exact and imperfect pain, illness holy calm the pain of living ... (Poppy)
And that progress take its course. Kat, Welcome to the next station. Kiss My 
Now is the train that crosses all boundaries that clearing distances, about us, which brings us closer together beyond the seas, oceans and continents immense. This time coming
their wagons loaded with Madness, the madness in many languages, the madness of the muses singing and inspiring verses from the madness that is wrong and poetry, joy and terror.
Madness, yours, mine.
His crew speaks of the most beautiful letters, hot imaginations of poets dreamed between fables and sorrows ... They are:
Qymera Making love in every line
Peru Hi-Fi Chronicles in Poetry pure Uruguay Noa
pen in his hands dance. Spain
Carlos Luna Her mission is estremecerte.Venezuela
Rafael P. An imagination. Spain
Blue Sky will fly the sky fantasy. Mexico
In Opium Poppy's Poetry Kat Chile
Tenderness made woman. Rodolfo
Panama Exquisite Natiello lap his poems. Argentina
Dilaca Inside Argentina
words Cicindela Zida'ya retreating between letters. Chile
Darilea Their world is different. Spain
Glauca Wears green. Spain
Nosferatu The night transforms. Argentina
Rebel Passion overwhelmed. Spain
Tiptoeing Oceanica. Lila Magritte Spain
Animal captive.
The versógrafo Photographing your mind. Spain
glass dome master conjugation. Spain
Lovesick Spain Curémoslo reading
Loose Minds Freedom of thought. Max Ballester Argentina
Lost Argentina
Paulina and Marco Two in one word. Chile Women
Fortunata lyrics. Spain
The loft feelings Spain Joint
Skin The magician of eroticism Mexico Gatto
Ronroneando to life efe
Colombia Sensuality to the surface. Spain
Love Letters ... Your
Spain Inside My Soul
Innocence lost. The awakening of life. Spain
The magic circle. Addiction sexualChile
Idiot His voice ... The lyrics
Helmet dreams and photographs Haikus Uruguay
Druid witches and the soul of poetry Brisa Spain
The tenderness was born in Spain
hands Colombine Spain
transparencies Yole In search of a siren Spain
Log Dive into crystal waters. Argentina
"Madness"
To eradicate it, tell me where, oh! Madness is your stone "in the flesh of your brain, your heart bulb? (Qymera)
Where do you keep the pebble vulnerable to sanity? And where your most precious stone, jewel of Love? (Hi Fi Chronicles)
Perhaps the verses of a poet using expired the role of his poem as a weapon of suicide. (Noa)
Or maybe you are at the foot of your Muse, I do not die, nor do I live with that weapon to shoot you provided, these letters of love, (Carlos Luna)
not are but the tense prison fuse that leads me narrow the progressive alienation (Rafael PQ)
travels from where it hurt
regret with the decision of that love conquered by nonsense ... (Sky Blue)
Oh madness !, I've drunk as ragweed poured into the safety of the exact and imperfect pain, illness holy calm the pain of living ... (Poppy)
And that progress take its course. Kat, Welcome to the next station. Kiss My
Opio.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
My Cavity Hurts When Cold
It happened that afternoon I saw him walking suddenly at the edge of the abyss. It was not in the task of understanding any language but had surrendered to the exercise of succumbing to feel the miracle and magic, embracing the world between orange walls in the madness of his delirium ... And I saw him. I saw him packing
divine hands touch the moon with that chameleon aspect of strident black hat, bringing me gifts of serene forest full of elves. And to see me
smiled and acknowledged her smile all the roads that had come and all the mountains he had climbed and the blinking of his eyes flashing could also see the history of their ancestors came from continents flashing old sonnets under magic hats.
I looked into his eyes can only look into the eyes of a stranger and talk about love at first sight on in fires of stars, recognizing the warrior who is capable of dancing in the moonlight bite of winter still the limit of its forces to continue dreaming stories and fables.
And as I watched him wind started blowing and smoking litter is plotted all the lives that had lived and all the stories I'd dreamed of ... I knew then
between Messiah and artificial paradise through his eyes the history of the old man gave to their children glass eyes to dream, I came across his fingers whispering sound of bold Moroccan had lost their wings, wrapped me in its whirl and tell me in whispers of the sun dance of the tribes of ancient times and still looking at me still woven in the length of my hair of gold the untold story of the origin of all rays.
And I saw him, she kept looking even without holding her hand as if to never let him get away on the promontory of its thousand memories when light universe began to fill with multicolored sparkles in the night lights of our continent away and held my breath at the stroke painful discovery in his eyes bathed in a breath of certainty and still held in the kiss given recognized at last thread its bright purple silk premonition of the first poems that begin to baste ...
(For Idiot)
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Diy Rectangular Shower Curtain Rod
What if ... Until
(The Lovers, Marc Chagall)
about we go one time to shit, if we do
again, if we strip
to love still uncreated
movements if we are in scattered whispers
am with your hands if you follow the path of my coordinates
to sink into the quicksand
the climax which culminates in a thousand blasts artifice.
What if love
drained the soul if we let the imagination take power
difficult it is done immediately,
and the impossible takes us just a little time ...
cry What if obeying the mismanagement of our nostalgia
if I pour into the veins beat of your pain ...
you know that I can recognize your sorrows in two seconds
and be executioner of your tears with my kisses.
What if we hide everything if we camouflage
only in the blood boil
if we burn together for spontaneous combustion
verses drunk to announce the awakening ...
What if we kill the laughter
to enjoy it from the little sanity that we still,
what if you laugh in this crazy drawing lines
killing all fears with the courage of his lyrics
and I laugh at the cocktail of your smile
delivered to our games and poison antidotes.
What if we drop without vacuum
network if we release all
if you face the abyss we thrown together,
hand, instead of walking
fearful over the edge ...
like a crazy dream, you and I
falling slowly
without telling us anything,
and laughing out loud background ahead.
What if I look at
if I kiss you and kiss you,
if you count my dreams,
if we stay silent,
whether we dance a tango,
if I touch you,
if you touch me, if I
draw in your lines,
if you picture in my stories, if I drink
dropwise
until it falls asleep ...
What if one of these days I say yes,
to undertake that no return flight to laugh
on the lips and burst into song to steal the beats
warm and you steal my way until I read your poetry
move the senses with the certainty you that these days miss and love my present
endless love,
under the moon.
(The Lovers, Marc Chagall) about we go one time to shit, if we do
again, if we strip
to love still uncreated
movements if we are in scattered whispers
am with your hands if you follow the path of my coordinates
to sink into the quicksand
the climax which culminates in a thousand blasts artifice.
What if love
drained the soul if we let the imagination take power
difficult it is done immediately,
and the impossible takes us just a little time ...
cry What if obeying the mismanagement of our nostalgia
if I pour into the veins beat of your pain ...
you know that I can recognize your sorrows in two seconds
and be executioner of your tears with my kisses.
What if we hide everything if we camouflage
only in the blood boil
if we burn together for spontaneous combustion
verses drunk to announce the awakening ...
What if we kill the laughter
to enjoy it from the little sanity that we still,
what if you laugh in this crazy drawing lines
killing all fears with the courage of his lyrics
and I laugh at the cocktail of your smile
delivered to our games and poison antidotes.
What if we drop without vacuum
network if we release all
if you face the abyss we thrown together,
hand, instead of walking
fearful over the edge ...
like a crazy dream, you and I
falling slowly
without telling us anything,
and laughing out loud background ahead.
What if I look at
if I kiss you and kiss you,
if you count my dreams,
if we stay silent,
whether we dance a tango,
if I touch you,
if you touch me, if I
draw in your lines,
if you picture in my stories, if I drink
dropwise
until it falls asleep ...
What if one of these days I say yes,
to undertake that no return flight to laugh
on the lips and burst into song to steal the beats
warm and you steal my way until I read your poetry
move the senses with the certainty you that these days miss and love my present
endless love,
under the moon.
Music:
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Watch Nightmare Campus Streaming
While you're not I can knit and unravel old poems
Of those that no longer serve
cosértelos back to cutting my soul to your needs
I can baste the world in
threads that melt in the attempt to find
between despair and the desire
in the absolute power of your memory this
in rhyme of your languages \u200b\u200band in the distance of your cries
and break a phrase in poems, while you're away.
While you're not I can shield the heart and try to get you
Searching for you on the banks of the thousand rivers where you warp your letters
in the heady moments where you will not find
where I care more about the truths
the marvels of fiction that weaves sweet realities.
I can give joy to my busy solitude
In the perpetual sound of your silence
me bitter condemnation of the scope of your absence.
Not in any of my miraculous signs of idealism in each cosmos
or I walk,
or in the depths of your seas
in the regions are not lost,
celestial vapors or the thickness of my forest
're not anywhere where I used to find you.
While I can try tejerte are not my accomplice
night Tangos walking my kisses and Night
but are not now in my hands or my empty
disputes sung to the dismay of your nights
or the geometry of my hemispheres absurd
or the mythological awe of your songs
anyway my sun, while I can dream you're not
I can sing a thousand verses
although the death cry
die to get you because you are not,
anywhere.
Music:
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Was Jimi Hendrix Half White
Miss you ...
Miss, tell me, how he smiles ... That
smiles when this day of August has come at last to take his place in the world pouring in every corner all new cupcake fragrance, fresh, leaving behind all the pain condensed sharing tender kisses coming of the new belly button.
Tell me, why because you smile even when I bring her to my chest as virtuous saluting the miracle of his encounter with my sweet milk, as in mockery of the secret little mystery that out of my belly and I would like to return to avoid they never let escape me ...
Because obviously, laughs you now, laugh because it made my soul crystals adventure the day to deploy its own wings to go and, as such I will have taught myself.
Smile because it sees you now (or will) the flow of my tears in their eyes open plan the day that you no longer have, or suspect you miss your breathing perhaps how shortie on my chest and his big eyes enormous charm with all nonsense of this world. Miss
why smiles as in this moment, as if he knew me forever, even beyond my stomach and my food, babbling confused, their dirty little hands caress, its happy greetings, their cheese legs, the echo of your breath in my breath, wet claims of its honey and its rain ... I would ask, anyway, that even beyond all that never leave you smiling.
Let me smile now as I watch so small, so Nuevitas and I can see beyond your angel eyes a soul bigger than the ocean and a spirit still stronger than the embrace of the sea, the sea of \u200b\u200bgenerous distance that brings me the legacy of their own eyes the promise of his curious little smile described and written in verse and poems conceived between liners.
Look what you've done, whether to myself I can not stop laughing because in the trova of my days also weave your dreams, declaiming that I love you a thousand lines of verse of foam, because the blood runs through my veins will be yours all certainties, in order to protect you always, to give back to my belly, for the promises cumplirte , not to drag his feet in tears and tear failures and perfect constant pain that I protect and transform my whole life, my soul and my heart melted, my baby and my horizon, my beginning and my end, my beautiful, eternal and Miss Sweet.
(A little Amanda,
has come by these days the world, and my dear
Pancha his mother, who I like a sister)
Lucia And we fill our light, yours to mine ... 
Photography Anne Geddes
Miss, tell me, how he smiles ... That
smiles when this day of August has come at last to take his place in the world pouring in every corner all new cupcake fragrance, fresh, leaving behind all the pain condensed sharing tender kisses coming of the new belly button.
Tell me, why because you smile even when I bring her to my chest as virtuous saluting the miracle of his encounter with my sweet milk, as in mockery of the secret little mystery that out of my belly and I would like to return to avoid they never let escape me ...
Because obviously, laughs you now, laugh because it made my soul crystals adventure the day to deploy its own wings to go and, as such I will have taught myself.
Smile because it sees you now (or will) the flow of my tears in their eyes open plan the day that you no longer have, or suspect you miss your breathing perhaps how shortie on my chest and his big eyes enormous charm with all nonsense of this world. Miss
why smiles as in this moment, as if he knew me forever, even beyond my stomach and my food, babbling confused, their dirty little hands caress, its happy greetings, their cheese legs, the echo of your breath in my breath, wet claims of its honey and its rain ... I would ask, anyway, that even beyond all that never leave you smiling.
Let me smile now as I watch so small, so Nuevitas and I can see beyond your angel eyes a soul bigger than the ocean and a spirit still stronger than the embrace of the sea, the sea of \u200b\u200bgenerous distance that brings me the legacy of their own eyes the promise of his curious little smile described and written in verse and poems conceived between liners.
Look what you've done, whether to myself I can not stop laughing because in the trova of my days also weave your dreams, declaiming that I love you a thousand lines of verse of foam, because the blood runs through my veins will be yours all certainties, in order to protect you always, to give back to my belly, for the promises cumplirte , not to drag his feet in tears and tear failures and perfect constant pain that I protect and transform my whole life, my soul and my heart melted, my baby and my horizon, my beginning and my end, my beautiful, eternal and Miss Sweet.
(A little Amanda,
has come by these days the world, and my dear
Pancha his mother, who I like a sister)
Lucia And we fill our light, yours to mine ...
Monday, August 21, 2006
Marianos Margarita Buckets
Side Effects ... Rhapsody
This time I will make a pause, a pause special and different is what I'll do this Monday. My good friend Sovka
of Mexico has included me in your string it out of love I can not access but not my usual style.
Here are his questions, which I have given the job of answering.
1. What three bloggers / as you would spend a night of sexual madness?
sexual
One night is an understatement to say to a passionate flower of opium, a sexual night could hanging out with all those who make bloom my writings, however, these days, rather than sexual night, an evening of poetry whispered in his ear, songs on guitar, Tangos and Night, soft kisses and caresses deafening twilight I do not want more than to spend it with my knight errant who is traveling these days for Havana, without whom I can not write inspirational and I miss too much ...
2. How long have you been blogging?
blog in the atmosphere since July 2005, more than a year ... Opium
And with my since February, and now 6 months.
3. How you hear about the existence of blogs and encourage you to participate?
news for a boom in July last year we raised a lot of curiosity to write, to get out and get back up opinions anonymous and selfless.
4. Are you anonymous reader of a blog? Only
one, a soul Bolivia fiercely hitting my body, shaking and inspires me and which I have become addicted, a powerful writer visited by very few people, whose presence never share with anyone and never reveal that exist.
5. Have you ever been in love a blogger / a?
Only once, very sorry and again.
(I never want to never ever write another Vendetta)
6. How would you go five bloggers drunk?
* With Uma, muse and sovereign of the most beautiful lyrics I've ever read, I get drunk just to meet the enigmatic source of his divine inspiration.
* With Idiot, I have known very little and yet (and now I know) you feel connected with my spirit in an irrational and inexplicable. * With Lavengro
Lord, for this taste of the sea that brings me, the promise of port, dark knight, poetry from the hills, I'm sure would be a drunk to remember.
* night-dwelling creatures, because after that dark girl image and viscera throbbing background saves an incredible personality.
* With Raging Bull, to get out all that the Wild Bull and his lyrics promise.
(The Bitch Killer appoint, but we've hit so many memorable drinking would be no novelty)
7. Have you met any more than the keyboard?
To many, I can not miss this opportunity to mention Jhony, who traveled to Ireland, which was a few days, contacted me and we fantastic in a few hours talking to thank you and opened my soul, now back to the island continues to write with the magic that can only be seen through a transparent and robust smile that shows live and direct.
8. Are you satisfied with your blog?
Very satisfied, satisfied when I receive the affection and criticism of all of you satisfied with the poetry with which at last after so many years I could find again. Satisfied with unconditional friendship, with the muses that inspire me, with real love or ficiticios born and feed the desire to continue writing.
However, I feel I do not know why that opium poppy and have a short life.
9. Do some authors that awaken you special sympathy?
generally those in my links are those that arouse me adicitivo special interest.
However, I can not ignore that my fingers move on their own to go to Idiot read more than once per day, also to Petra in his mansion in which we received as if each day had a feast prepared and of course my Tejonegro, without whose lyrics I can hardly breathe.
Choose three to five bloggers to answer these questions in their blogs.
Luis Cabrera, a great friend, great person and smelling my cute Chile rarely found Lavengro
Lord, for the simple pleasure of seeing me bathed in subtle darkness.
Petra, because it could be without knowing the answers that would give the true Blogstar.
Sovka Thanks my dear and I hope to have fulfilled the mission. 
This time I will make a pause, a pause special and different is what I'll do this Monday. My good friend Sovka
of Mexico has included me in your string it out of love I can not access but not my usual style.
Here are his questions, which I have given the job of answering.
1. What three bloggers / as you would spend a night of sexual madness?
sexual
One night is an understatement to say to a passionate flower of opium, a sexual night could hanging out with all those who make bloom my writings, however, these days, rather than sexual night, an evening of poetry whispered in his ear, songs on guitar, Tangos and Night, soft kisses and caresses deafening twilight I do not want more than to spend it with my knight errant who is traveling these days for Havana, without whom I can not write inspirational and I miss too much ...
2. How long have you been blogging?
blog in the atmosphere since July 2005, more than a year ... Opium
And with my since February, and now 6 months.
3. How you hear about the existence of blogs and encourage you to participate?
news for a boom in July last year we raised a lot of curiosity to write, to get out and get back up opinions anonymous and selfless.
4. Are you anonymous reader of a blog? Only
one, a soul Bolivia fiercely hitting my body, shaking and inspires me and which I have become addicted, a powerful writer visited by very few people, whose presence never share with anyone and never reveal that exist.
5. Have you ever been in love a blogger / a?
Only once, very sorry and again.
(I never want to never ever write another Vendetta)
6. How would you go five bloggers drunk?
* With Uma, muse and sovereign of the most beautiful lyrics I've ever read, I get drunk just to meet the enigmatic source of his divine inspiration.
* With Idiot, I have known very little and yet (and now I know) you feel connected with my spirit in an irrational and inexplicable. * With Lavengro
Lord, for this taste of the sea that brings me, the promise of port, dark knight, poetry from the hills, I'm sure would be a drunk to remember.
* night-dwelling creatures, because after that dark girl image and viscera throbbing background saves an incredible personality.
* With Raging Bull, to get out all that the Wild Bull and his lyrics promise.
(The Bitch Killer appoint, but we've hit so many memorable drinking would be no novelty)
7. Have you met any more than the keyboard?
To many, I can not miss this opportunity to mention Jhony, who traveled to Ireland, which was a few days, contacted me and we fantastic in a few hours talking to thank you and opened my soul, now back to the island continues to write with the magic that can only be seen through a transparent and robust smile that shows live and direct.
8. Are you satisfied with your blog?
Very satisfied, satisfied when I receive the affection and criticism of all of you satisfied with the poetry with which at last after so many years I could find again. Satisfied with unconditional friendship, with the muses that inspire me, with real love or ficiticios born and feed the desire to continue writing.
However, I feel I do not know why that opium poppy and have a short life.
9. Do some authors that awaken you special sympathy?
generally those in my links are those that arouse me adicitivo special interest.
However, I can not ignore that my fingers move on their own to go to Idiot read more than once per day, also to Petra in his mansion in which we received as if each day had a feast prepared and of course my Tejonegro, without whose lyrics I can hardly breathe.
Choose three to five bloggers to answer these questions in their blogs.
Luis Cabrera, a great friend, great person and smelling my cute Chile rarely found Lavengro
Lord, for the simple pleasure of seeing me bathed in subtle darkness.
Petra, because it could be without knowing the answers that would give the true Blogstar.
Sovka Thanks my dear and I hope to have fulfilled the mission.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Replace Eggs In Salmon Patties
Havana Night
Havana, Cuba at sunset 
Havana, Cuba at sunset "You remind me of the dreamy meadow
the wall that separates us from the sea, whether it's night you remember me sitting
certain feelings
never know what brought on the wings
whether living or dead, whether dead or alive ... "
clearly remember the first encounter with your image pounding in my old books full of aromas, your image of wood dampened by the course of your time, your smile drawing your story and look of my senses entibiando coals.
Do you remember when you came to get me on that rainy afternoon ... the time you were jumping puddles to come to my meeting and headed to the district under the umbrella of the poets to read me a Lihn with your glasses fogged by the steam coffee?
also in my kiss I remember the evening when we accept that Night stain the skin with the ink of the night and smiled ...
You know, you know how much I love to see you
smile ... It happens that you see on the streets of Havana as I saw that afternoon in the rain ... with boiling your smile thunderous twilight revelry of the Caribbean.
happens that you feel weird, brilliant in that capacity you have to read my mind and fill the bones of foam, with yours heat that reached with the mine as part of the same spell, you have to see you walking down these streets my sunshine in the spirit stirred so many memories that come and go, hoping that happens soon this summer of shit that makes you more and more endless, succumbing at times between poetry and pain, forging a smile to greet the teeming mulatto skin, trying to find the kiss you do not have every flavor of coffee ...
"You remind me of the streets of Old Havana Cathedral
black tile in your bathroom
you remind me of things I do not know, windows
where the singers sang
love night to Havana's love Habana
happens that I hear and I connect with your shadow and your neck firm, when days and nights going forward written by themselves, when the pain becomes stronger than the analgesia of poetry.
You know, these days I'm claiming verses still, and see you down the street and sustained over time does more than return these verses of yours who always support me, no tricks, no frills.
These days I can see you in the streets cut viboreantes this horny moon Havana that surrounds us ... you and me.
I wonder if everything is false, if all be true, if you can find me in those dark skies of our America to tie your star hispanic, if you can not invent in kisses without studying each sentence, if perhaps not stumble on this look not know if you can not one of them later orange sunsets, swaying in the melancholy of coffee, quench my desire to be art in the folds of your skin ...
And what matters in the end, what the hell mind, I end up saying, if I've already drunk so much of your soul and understand both your hands to yourself I'm sure I will not need eyes when I understand the blood, when I receive full, when you are waiting for your poems make game my pores on the magnetism of this city awesome remote warm winds and scorching summers, one of many of our evenings in Havana ...
"This is not an elegy,
not a romance, or a verse
rather a
thanks for giving my longing for a kiss why a modest crown
found in the dawn ..."
(Silvio)
Tuesday, August 8, 2006
Wedding Invitations Spanish Wording Samples
(Hilda, 1958) I imagine in other times, in your fun times, those of the strains of mambo and cha cha cha habanero, that you liked so much and I can still hear from time to time in the sonorous echoes of your old walls. I remember imagining
, bright and beautiful as when knights were fighting for your charm slicked singing the verses of your green eyes and golden hair lady your Germanic, it is now in its whiteness shines stoic resisting the rigors of time.
I remember the flowers in your terrace singing arias of love in the twilight of time, imagine the triumphant flash of your smile and the heart stirred by the nostalgia of your ancestral regions.
I imagine shaking the world with the magic breath your beauty and charms of your lives free from taint by which time he had forgotten to take up many years later.
I should have been in Santiago for our nostalgia, it would have felt your fear when the world was falling apart in war and have seen you mourn the aroma of a thousand stories of old continents to understand the present.
there to see you today, you preserved splendid, magnificent diamond as the light of other days, walk with your angel without wings at the beginning of old age, with the same beauty of old drawn into the aura and your stealthy steps of the moon moving to the rhythm of the old soft mambo.
So I keep in my mind, so I draw my letters, so I take the hands and tired of so many eras, thus resisting time, beating both penalties. So I look the look in your sweet glassy green eyes ever. So I prefer to call
: Magnifique!. As before when you called evanescent beauty dazzled, I prefer to call Magnificent, magnificent forever since I never call Grandma.
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
How Do I Get Cheats For Gpsphone Without Computer
(Full Moon, Lorenzo Goñi)
invites you to drink of the night, to be a shadow that hides in the walk to fill my broken streets of vice city smoking in my numb ... here, where I found you an afternoon emerging violent winds spell ... of that spell of yours who does not play or is corrupted.
invites you to us ink-stained night to dissolve in the nostalgia of your poems in the moonlight.
invites you into the jaws of the eternal night, to figure out my moon bite of winter here where I have and where you are not yet so I can stop you, hold you and hold you, licking the lines, breathing the night, to find the throbbing kiss you owe me, to begin the story we were given on the eve of the shadows.
I also invited some to forget, to stop mourn the rhymes of your slow passion against the absence, to ignore for a moment the night pounding hammer reminiscent failure, you lose your big hill with the black ravine I was chained, leaving the night choking with words ... smoke in the lungs and the heart smoking.
invites you to walk stealthily you and I watching the shadows, bring me your poetry and ocher moon slips from behind me, to write me with their lips on each run of these old streets, so I steal the lines clear night you up shoulders, hug me by my waist and tighten your chest and steal me how I feel wild.
invites you to be drunken in the night of my kisses, to be caressing under cover of night sky, to be looked at the moon without forgetting the way the verse ... because kissing is that old exercise of amazement that we inherit as many of our experienced leaks.
invites you to kiss me from darkness, to feel just the sound of quiet tonight and pulse of our senses turned into the song of delirious triumph of the stars.
invites you to be mine which forges the endless night ... and in the dark rumor trailing silent in this city fierce and numb you to drink up all invited skin tonight.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Semi-formal Birthday Dinner
Magnifique ... Do they dance tango? Last
(Touch of Ivory Bill Brauer) 
(Touch of Ivory Bill Brauer) Come now, come closer
a moment. I know you can hear me
you can feel the music in the flavor of the night
Did you hear? Indulge
the bandoneon
to feel like they embrace the chords in the melody.
me out to dance, I know you can
I know you want,
that you're dying, leave behind your sorrows
today only you and me
you and me in the smoking room, just you and me
in the twilight of our days.
Come to me with that movement
jaguar in heat
both know that I love,
take my waist and hold me tight officiating
as dialogue between my violin and piano
your rockin 'in my time leaving behind
pain,
to dive into
breaks my leg between yours
when the music starts
describing my ways your bass.
Come here, get drunk at night
as pilgrims
owls in the booming voice of thrushes
mouth breathing in your secret sorrows
to roar tight in this nostalgic baby my drift
love Full Throttle came in a kiss
dance this tango.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Blunt Wraps For Ounces
(Thinking of you, Luis Gerardo Sierra) You do not know how
I now want to have all the time in the world but not wanting
I will convene with me
because even if they were not dying yet
then die
only approach to their sorrow. Martin Santomé
You do not know how much I struggled
to live
how I wanted to live to live
but I must be lazy
instigator of life because I'm dying, Santomé.
You, of course, does not know
because I never even said
on those nights when you discover me with his hands incredulously
free
you do not know how I value
his simple courage to love me. Martin Santomé
You do not know
and I know you do not know
because I saw his eyes
solving the riddle of fear.
not know that is not old
could not be in any case beyond their years
you I am sure to love it. Martin Santomé
You do not know
how well, how nice Avellaneda says
has somehow invented
my name with his love.
You are the answer I expected
to a question I've never made
you are my man and I
I leave you is my man and I
flagging. Martin Santomé
You do not know
at least not this wait
knows how sad is seeing the joy
closed without notice
a brutal slam.
is rare but I feel like I'm going away
you and me we were so close
of me and you.
Perhaps because life is so
to be close and I'm dying
Santomé
you do not know what
dark
how far do quiet. You
Martín Martín ...
how was it?
names
I fall myself I'm falling
you anyway
not know or imagine how lonely
will be my death your
without life.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Dry Dutch Master Cigar
By Laura notion After Drag Queen
("Amapola", Flowergirl, Bas Hoeben)
Al Ultimately this is my place,
I bend in the road, sniffing
my refuge, sought and found
my place of resignations and denunciations, claims
between honey and wet rain
early and late, awaiting word
and evidence
where I have more to write in order to live
or maybe just live keep writing
Al After
is here where I can build my world
with the stones of the verses
floor and lift with the same stone walls
to my song after all this is just
that the site of my tears dark
foam of my laughter, my remote
penalties
where I can speak between lines of delirium delirium
to keep feeling alive
to invent
thousand muses while being my verse.
the end of the day is here
(because it is not elsewhere)
where I can throw the letter of my last pack and hold
crimes chains that bind me where I can to stain free
where I am than where
life I can drink and still be
word where I can go where I can understand
love poem. 
("Amapola", Flowergirl, Bas Hoeben) Al Ultimately this is my place,
I bend in the road, sniffing
my refuge, sought and found
my place of resignations and denunciations, claims
between honey and wet rain
early and late, awaiting word
and evidence
where I have more to write in order to live
or maybe just live keep writing
Al After
is here where I can build my world
with the stones of the verses
floor and lift with the same stone walls
to my song after all this is just
that the site of my tears dark
foam of my laughter, my remote
penalties
where I can speak between lines of delirium delirium
to keep feeling alive
to invent
thousand muses while being my verse.
the end of the day is here
(because it is not elsewhere)
where I can throw the letter of my last pack and hold
crimes chains that bind me where I can to stain free
where I am than where
life I can drink and still be
word where I can go where I can understand
love poem.
Where To Play Apples To Apples Online
(Drag Queen, Maurice Roze) Nobody ever understood this creature from the dark fable
world disappear as if by day and lit at night bathed of torment, anguish of love dangling his deranged in the melancholy of rum.
Nobody ever understood the gleam of his smile covered nocturnal bird of God, purchased with his brief sentence the abyss of his soul, hiding at night sissy virile charm that is consistent nature of day.
had some pain in his madness each sample, the smile that drew every night with lipstick and tell the world in the guise of Queen dream, all the advantages gained from time to not give them the opportunity to cry, dreaming each step the path of its history of violence and condensed sucked all the sorrows of the world.
was the queen of cabaret, the surviving only in the glare of sequins to the night he saw, and plowing through the smoke and cheap perfume focused his eyes on the look of a man who left her breathless and so for a long time without knowing why, he said that look, the dreamer said, as if he ventured the hypocrisy of his disdain, as if he was not accustomed to the vagaries of the night. And thirsting for love
believed his lips, stroke her smile with his long fingers used to the darkness and the darkness and felt the stale aroma of love long-awaited promise. He
order to port your attic, your poor sucucho stifling hot air of her perfume, clothes picked to dry on the line that ran through the room with the stealth and speed is amazing who intimidated by the misery of his haze, arranged her hair, nails and lips, and lit his eyes of a bitch in heat almost as carefully as he did at night was filled with necklaces and bracelets and sat down to wait in the window, sipping his wine, smiling bet your inner darkness, weaving future, entrenched against fate and staring at the horizon. And while waiting
began writing poetry as an omen to shed and sorcery of its existence, because writing was the only calm the anguish she beat, fighting the hours to avoid defeat in la espera el sueño nunca olvidado por años en su corazón.
Y continuó esperando ya sin saber por qué, aunque las horas pasaron y los días se contaminaron de ansiedad, porque le ilusionaba, porque veía en la espera del amor soñado el palpitante llamado a barrer con la suciedad de tantas noches de amoríos siniestros, de sueños de princesa al fin rescatada de su torre, de su existencia de pobre travesti concebido por las heces de su estirpe.
Nadie entendió nunca a esta criatura de fábula en la penumbra del mundo viviendo en el equívoco la tarde de mil esperas sin recompensa cuando decidió nunca mas volver a maquillarse, porque ya no cabía el color en los tintes desgastados de la mueca his mask and choking pain that will lock the blood.
Nobody ever understood this fabled creature in the shadows of the world until the end of twilight deafening, with patience and soul torn to pieces and holding on to memories as the last offering before rolling to the bottom lit a cigarette and sighed.
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Manual For Office G85
When you come to my country
("Desire", Mercedes Vanderdorpe)
Yesterday I spent a
think when you come to my country, run to find you,
through your seas to reach my
port and recognize in your eyes music from your letters that nest in my wreck
will show you my land, my homeland, my kingdom,
and know it's you because you were expecting.
If one day you come take a walk in the green hills
which gifts are filled with rain
alliances and give you the power to run through the fields where the wheat
born by their curled pampas, where
golden thistles sprout'll tell a thousand stories, as we walk barefoot and desgranaré
grapes
give them to you one to one with your head in my arms. We will hear and announce
temples, with bells, their dead
and how pigeons flutter in squares of the center, I will take you from
hand, smiling walk
old cobblestones, and you will see
drawn between the horizon and the sky
our brand new range at dawn on January,
evaporating moisture in the roof of my people.
'll take you to the beach to show my seas
converge around the harbor where seagulls, ships run aground
where the rhythm of the waves at sunset
when the hills are bathed
light and salt will write the verses which gives the ocean.
'll show you how my land tremble when bleed
volcanoes as its roaring spring the verses of poets
I bathe in the vapors of my ancient forests where the eucalyptus
aroman the leaves that are bouncing
'll like my wet earth, the metamorphosis of
fields that are bathed in the legends that the rains are leaving.
Here I receive you in the joy of my land
in the coarseness of her beauty is yours also see
to dance with my dance when I tell my stories
painful strains stained with his blood, hundreds of fields
gold and thousands of willows eternal
of ancestors who dreamed of the freedom of their land
and remote edges of the remnants of a people.
then hug you very strong, peinaré you with my fingers
triumphant dismiss you when you leave again
and watch as you take the heart
Chilean how beautiful is this land
and remember that far back as I write every evening in your town
I'll pay with lyrics on the verses that you have made me and I'll be waiting
for when you come back. 
("Desire", Mercedes Vanderdorpe) Yesterday I spent a
think when you come to my country, run to find you,
through your seas to reach my
port and recognize in your eyes music from your letters that nest in my wreck
will show you my land, my homeland, my kingdom,
and know it's you because you were expecting.
If one day you come take a walk in the green hills
which gifts are filled with rain
alliances and give you the power to run through the fields where the wheat
born by their curled pampas, where
golden thistles sprout'll tell a thousand stories, as we walk barefoot and desgranaré
grapes
give them to you one to one with your head in my arms. We will hear and announce
temples, with bells, their dead
and how pigeons flutter in squares of the center, I will take you from
hand, smiling walk
old cobblestones, and you will see
drawn between the horizon and the sky
our brand new range at dawn on January,
evaporating moisture in the roof of my people.
'll take you to the beach to show my seas
converge around the harbor where seagulls, ships run aground
where the rhythm of the waves at sunset
when the hills are bathed
light and salt will write the verses which gives the ocean.
'll show you how my land tremble when bleed
volcanoes as its roaring spring the verses of poets
I bathe in the vapors of my ancient forests where the eucalyptus
aroman the leaves that are bouncing
'll like my wet earth, the metamorphosis of
fields that are bathed in the legends that the rains are leaving.
Here I receive you in the joy of my land
in the coarseness of her beauty is yours also see
to dance with my dance when I tell my stories
painful strains stained with his blood, hundreds of fields
gold and thousands of willows eternal
of ancestors who dreamed of the freedom of their land
and remote edges of the remnants of a people.
then hug you very strong, peinaré you with my fingers
triumphant dismiss you when you leave again
and watch as you take the heart
Chilean how beautiful is this land
and remember that far back as I write every evening in your town
I'll pay with lyrics on the verses that you have made me and I'll be waiting
for when you come back.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Brownie With Caramel In Middle
III
"Bad story of David Costa" 
"Bad story of David Costa" stop in the middle of the stage in the joy of the last work ever sung with the script on the lips as a sign of paper known as many centuries, rehearse their lines before de que se levante el telón de su último soneto.
"Aún mantengo el recuerdo, el hacer click para entrar donde todos son desconocidos, sin embargo, nunca imaginé que el de ahora es el que más ignoro. Te mantienes estático, no eres ignorado, eres familiar, eras familiar, cuando aún no creías saber quién eras y no anticipabas tu muerte prematura, cuando te mantenías fuerte y tus convicciones desplazaban a las mías, cuando el corazón era el delator, cuando me elevabas para luego soltarme una y otra vez para sentir que nunca de tan alto había caído..."
(Justo en ese instante aparece el personaje principal, toma la obra, ni siquiera es suya, pero la toma y se dispone to act, you act it out. The idolatry
thousand verses sung in no time dream finally found its audience, it is recognized adored, is known in the magnificence.
dazzle lights, the scenery is colorful, the players know their parliaments as blood flowed from)
"My funeral had been premature, he never remembered the mask of death I saw the night before I met you, when I still devour my eyes, when not yet felt lost breath, when he still had the power to manage the words (I swear they were my words), when I could baste it and was not required to be diluted in them, no longer evading, it haunted me ... "
(The play reaches its climax at this point the viewer keeps teeth clenched and fists closed. The lights turn red and the music rushes)
"Is that your empty eyes gaze following with the darker pendulum, your ironic smile throwing its echoes in the bottom of a well, your simple words of narrator involved in opium dreams (You're such a good actor!) I moved to the land of dreams, where I was sleeping, and did not see that you were only one among the crowd. Did you sense the worst hangover, which occurs when one wakes up next to a stranger? "
(The red lights go down, you start elucidate the mystery, they begin to solve the constraints of function)
"I tried in vain to make an imitation of you project yourself in vain, in vain to become the most gold beetle and make you the most extraordinary stories, elevate above the waves that brought me your manuscript as if it came in a bottle.
I wanted to give you an identity, dignificarte, but do not know, short of time.
(I did not want to be hurtful, I did not say what they really missed you was weight) "
(The star of the show remains on stage, standing, waiting for the starting role, but nobody comes and is suspended and returns the next day with more enthusiasm and be exhausted, because it will not reach anyone. Neither
next, or the subsequent ...
He realizes that the function was trying to show is no longer good enough and that their role is becoming less credible.
goes home and writes his best work, the setup is great, and the first monologue.
But not mount anything, no work, no stage, no lights, no nothing, because he realizes that his role and has no sense, because their only audience is dead, and not a suicide or murder, or natural death. Just realize that he is dead because the actor has been sent to the worst of punishments: When forgetting)
"What now? Now I hold in my breast, sir, your name stays in my nipples and my spitting, biting my saliva drag your vertigo, their silence does not hinder, not mistaken, sir, your silence relieved.
Now note that has always been a shadow, a projection of a thousand fantasies, the oval portrait of a being that grows when you feed your ego, just a photographer who can not see beyond an image, your own image.
The stab hurts the most is that given in the back.
I'm sorry, really sorry, but you can not charge me with his implacable presence ... "
(An actor dies, like so many thousands of actors die each year, has served the sentence, Vendetta is no more than the forgotten, even hatred, or bitterness, only oblivion, no one in the room, never was.
Lower the curtain. Just the function)
Potato Chip Gift Basket
Epilogue
Ernesto Cardenal said
This will be my revenge, "That one day get your hands
a book by a famous poet,
and read these lines the author wrote for you
And you do not know "
But you see as Bolaño was right, women need to hear very carefully in moments of passion, we like to talk and be heard, because if we do not go killer killer of dreams and idols and able to everything and more.
The Vendetta is more than simple revenge, vendetta is the blood payment transverse to time, is the reckoning of all the pains and my vendetta rhetoric used as a sword and shield as armor word and verse as poison mortal, it is in the rhetoric which we move, where they are born and die our visceral passions.
Where is the threat poetic prose, poetry punishment and play the final script of your design more painful: Oblivion.
My vendetta is Having A literary material used ("Suppose you need to write, otherwise I miss you") you became an experiment of my creation, long, tedious but fruitful Having A kept believing otherwise.
I correct it to Cardinal:
"My revenge is to have you here reading these lines I wrote for you and that you know what"
I'm charged.
You can go to hell.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Slimy Rottweiler Poop
Vendetta Vendetta Vendetta II
"Sad Clown, Digital Art"
Laugh, laugh
because you allow it because they're dead yet
because it is the grotesque sound of your laughter
the last song that you keep the pot in your madness.
Te permitiré la risa porque intuyo tu soledad como te intuyo la piel
porque tu risa no es más que la falla en el tiempo de una voluntad devastada
porque en la risa es donde sabes expresar mejor que nadie
la estupidez de los versos que ni tú mismo comprendes.
Te permito reír mientras te dure el placer
de verte circuncidado por el silencio
para mirarte a los ojos mientras te ríes
para soñarte por última vez con tus manos recorriéndome
y recordarlo asqueada.
Te permitiré la risa como último recuerdo de tu sarcasmo fingido
apenas sostenido en sus muletas
porque ya no te bebo
porque ya no te resultan las letras escarbando
my senses because I want to see the face
facing the fierceness of my face.
let you laugh and far from the pleasures and the desires holy devotees
to see me dying to dance to the strains of your laughter
where I can build you and reconstruct you
coserte and descoserte
and disarm and arm yourself with trepanar my nails all the verses premonitory
to see your face in years and all the panic anxiety
league with
appeal because it is not you who wrote verses
because they seem to dance alone
when they have taken the form of my lips.
laughs last
care and no longer your word that accelerates my movements but the older
slogans of all my evil demons
that want nothing more than to see your black throat
fragmented by time and sad
petrified sitting on the bust from where ever because they do not depart
because you do not know because you try
and you do not.
Laugh
although you're dead to me that I care, I let you laugh now
because
today and you can not do it again
Nevermore 
"Sad Clown, Digital Art" Laugh, laugh
because you allow it because they're dead yet
because it is the grotesque sound of your laughter
the last song that you keep the pot in your madness.
Te permitiré la risa porque intuyo tu soledad como te intuyo la piel
porque tu risa no es más que la falla en el tiempo de una voluntad devastada
porque en la risa es donde sabes expresar mejor que nadie
la estupidez de los versos que ni tú mismo comprendes.
Te permito reír mientras te dure el placer
de verte circuncidado por el silencio
para mirarte a los ojos mientras te ríes
para soñarte por última vez con tus manos recorriéndome
y recordarlo asqueada.
Te permitiré la risa como último recuerdo de tu sarcasmo fingido
apenas sostenido en sus muletas
porque ya no te bebo
porque ya no te resultan las letras escarbando
my senses because I want to see the face
facing the fierceness of my face.
let you laugh and far from the pleasures and the desires holy devotees
to see me dying to dance to the strains of your laughter
where I can build you and reconstruct you
coserte and descoserte
and disarm and arm yourself with trepanar my nails all the verses premonitory
to see your face in years and all the panic anxiety
league with
appeal because it is not you who wrote verses
because they seem to dance alone
when they have taken the form of my lips.
laughs last
care and no longer your word that accelerates my movements but the older
slogans of all my evil demons
that want nothing more than to see your black throat
fragmented by time and sad
petrified sitting on the bust from where ever because they do not depart
because you do not know because you try
and you do not.
Laugh
although you're dead to me that I care, I let you laugh now
because
today and you can not do it again
Nevermore
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Leather Couch & Cold Weather
I
(Sin City, Frank Miller) 
(Sin City, Frank Miller) That all We killer whores, shivering with cold monkeys contemplating the horizon from a sick tree, princesses looking in the dark, crying, searching the words that we can never say ... (or as we have said we have no more than the unbearable whistle ringing in the ears) ... that the misunderstanding we live and plan our life cycles, at least is what I said Bolan ... and it was so wrong.
all have at heart the complex and perverse need to destroy our own tales of enchanted forests, bite them to pieces, tear the last bit to see covered in blood every treasured moment of magic that can defile no fault to the messianic candor of first kisses and trample the scraps of every moment saturated with inspiration, do not cheat us.
Let us not seek, not a disservice to our idolatry and our sweat, we can change into wolves hungry for love, sex or even blood to complete dismembering each orgasmic moaning the words that nobody wanted (or dared) to listen because it was sweeter the pain of ingrown toenails in the back that infamous pleasure as being contaminated.
princesses that we are not alone, we also satisfy the sweet taste of the most bitter revenge, we can look into the eyes not yet open and inventory every inch of skin known and skipping to know everything that burns inside, between the limits, venturing desire (real or imagined) of each existence washed off by the sun.
And finally, for a murderous goddess, nothing smells worse than chewing the visceral pleasure of passion that is born and dies in rhetoric, singing drunk, filthy, perverse and insatiable, the rhetoric of mourning, the sonnet dead conjugate verse swollen lips nor anything smells and tastes sweeter than a hot and makeup of oblivion awaited revenge.
"Nemo me impune lacessit"
(Poe)
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