below I.
First delivery: The Rome.
Walk the Pilgrim on the street Z. Idly down the alley that leads right to the gates of the old church of San F., who speaks of history and suffering of the heroes (in fact, considers the blood useless and silly if you are within the blue-green veins of the boys).
Away from the mountains, heading west, past the Convent of the Franciscans, on the narrow street with high walls of the cathedral, amidst the tumult of those that come and go and scattered among Charquilla left by the last shower .
For the same estrada, before entering the sordid tangle of street vendors and booksellers, is the most picturesque site of the center: the Roma.
a coffee (or a bar?) Open, full of old are mixed among some young people. Sell coffee or beer, and people-workers and artisans-feel to leave in rickety tables to light bulbs. They talk and laugh.
In the distance stands a bathroom. He gets up and walks toward him nervous step. Finally above.
The toilet is dotted with stray drops of urine from drunks and just at the door, a pair of lovers kissing thugs concert with a mix of passion and melancholy, while absent-mindedly opened the right key-the one who serves " basin. Out soon. I imagine that to seek the warm shelter of a hotel bed cheap and dirty where to download mutual passion fires blazing. They are beautiful, but the girl has some grace. They're young ... The youth is itself a kind of beauty.
back to town center. Behold the faces ruddy-cheeked, blond hair thing, and Mistral-baked north wind, full lips and suggestive, the bodies are left guessing labile under the tracksuits and T-shirts and eyes off, drunken, breathing the heavy air carbon.
Half an hour and begins to feel bored. Has found no place to sit and had to stand. Decides to leave, return to the Andean wind eight in the evening, to continue his expedition elsewhere.
Why would a site that has been fascinated laya? The truth, as I said, it has recently small organized expeditions for which he has been called the Bogotá below, one that is indifferent to the Santa Fe graceful, elegant and prudish north of the bars and clubs for high society ladies. Well, Rome is just such a rude sincerity of a site that dares to be himself, has that flavor to south, with its aura of soccer and its suburbs talks.
is a site with enough personality to avoid being stiff in the cliché "crummy place." A site without decorations or posters with large buttocks thugs models sprinkled with sand and seawater.
It is rather a place for poor and poorly educated proletarian-rings redundant-that offer free word and are able, without prejudice, to shake your hand quickly between his calloused.
So if you're near the street Z, if you have an open mind and are able to discuss issues that become insignificant transcendental in naive little souls who believe sabérselas all, goes to Rome.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Early Pregnancy Dry Mucus
The waste that involves writing.
Writing is a criminal exercise, a waste, a spill on the leaves.
Writing is a perilous exercise, offensive and destructive. It is a put in evidence before the prying eyes of others. Be open, pierce the veil, it is painful.
If what I write (some of what I write, for that matter) I put it here is because friends have encouraged me to do so.
However, I must confess that in every 'new entry' me shake your hand and wonder. But I console myself thinking: without being read to what to write? At the end of the day, "is written to its neighbors or to God," as Sartre said left half of his 'words'.
After all, the Internet my clothes in the cloak of secrecy that allows me to be authentic. Fame oblige me, however, to write what my readers want, so buy my texts so I could eat.
As the novel that I am, I finally decided to publish mediocre verses like these, however, had not been not writing. I too, like the iconoclastic Vallejo, I write because I have something to say ...
Writing is a criminal exercise, a waste, a spill on the leaves.
Writing is a perilous exercise, offensive and destructive. It is a put in evidence before the prying eyes of others. Be open, pierce the veil, it is painful.
If what I write (some of what I write, for that matter) I put it here is because friends have encouraged me to do so.
However, I must confess that in every 'new entry' me shake your hand and wonder. But I console myself thinking: without being read to what to write? At the end of the day, "is written to its neighbors or to God," as Sartre said left half of his 'words'.
After all, the Internet my clothes in the cloak of secrecy that allows me to be authentic. Fame oblige me, however, to write what my readers want, so buy my texts so I could eat.
As the novel that I am, I finally decided to publish mediocre verses like these, however, had not been not writing. I too, like the iconoclastic Vallejo, I write because I have something to say ...
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Translate Ua Ola Loko I Ke Aloha
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