IV.
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List Of Pokemon Moves In Pokemondeluge
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Letter III. Knowing Don Alvaro.
in exile. Too late. Late Thursday 1 June.
Dear Don Alvaro:
The last message I left in your mail have not received a response. I imagine that your many necessities do not leave much time to write messages, mostly trivial (like my problems are trivial and yours). Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, March, April, May, June, 1920, 1921, 1922 ... This is living, writing Roquentin in 'Nausea'.
Today I decide to write a new letter. I would open my heart before yours as Friend and brother because of the many memories, adventures, misadventures, smiles, tears and stories perhaps we have lived together.
Even now, when life insists on separate tyrant, I think, I believe with all my heart, that our friendship remains intact. Have not changed enough for my ears, to paraphrase De Saint-Exupery, no more recognize the sound of your footsteps on the grass. And these other stars where I live, insists on reminding me, my old fox.
few days ago, I took a look at your virtual space. How beautiful is all that is said there. 're As epicurean and voluptuous as in the times of classes, when fresh from the youth, we heard the 'meditatii' simpleton of old scholars of this Catholic university we attended.
calm knowing that I have read Eco, then, are essentially the same! As monastic as medieval musings and preferences in your mind, so postmodern lifestyle. Renaissance Diogenes but one species, perhaps a Peter Abelard or even a Caesar Borgia of our time.
I close my eyes and see you lounging in your armchair, reading 'Baudolino', 'Foucault's Pendulum "or" The Name of the Rose' (this is not. Truth is already read, by the time when Ramirez died were 20 or 22 times!) maybe 'Kant and the platypus'? (At times, bored me greatly). Here you spend dramatically frantically pages without Having A shaving, or making the bed, and opened the shutters of your window in the middle of a room that feels nicotine and good people would not go without arousing suspicion. That is you.
may not ever change. I am reluctant to believe in conversions. We may be only a mass Parmenides, a thing among things. Perhaps there is only the circumstances ...
Your cyber readership was very full. I even read the notes of some of your students (of secular education, of course. The nuns of La Estrella Gonzaga or cures will not endure) I admire you, that you want. We offer the innocence of his affection, in the background brief and fallacious, but soon, spontaneous and fiery. "Tell me teacher," you say, but nothing can actually do for you.
I see you're doing your job, I feel very proud and I congratulate you.
However, let me express the impression that because your lifestyle in mind: I must say that I perceive to be in a transitional phase, as in a limbo without too many issues. Work, live and enjoy what you do, what all of you this little god. It is time to look to the future, or spend the view watching the setting sun reddened the horizon. View to the sides, discuss, theorize, perhaps, and keep going. But, when you will feel tired, believe me, and make important decisions and final. Meanwhile, you give yourself the luxury of having the world in suspense. You're on your right.
for me things are a bit more hectic. It was not easy to go, in just a few months, hope to trouble, which a Pedro Apostle, of wanting to give his life for love of the triple denial. I thought going on the right track, ready to taste, as one begins a new life. Married, father ... a peaceful life was my destiny. And suddenly, the ghosts come back, the storm breaks and terrifying. How fast pace, almost from one minute to another, from hell to heaven, which is holy to the impure, the consolation for the pain ... It
I feel smaller than myself, that beyond my strength, my string is short to retain them.
When I thought my old loves were buried, here once again my heart is divided: some weeks ago, a soul in torment has dared to get in my bed, to consummate what we have already started. Another body has made me revive Silvia, when I wanted to forget and bury memories dating from the time of candor. It was a night that will not go higher, but it has highlighted my fears and weaknesses, and even my faults. Far from rejoicing, I feel apathetic and if you choose to follow masochism tied to the shackles of my prison.
As for you, me, Apollonian as I am, I see you as a Bacchus by Pilatuña. River with all this ...
Otherwise, you know that the prejudices of my tribe I slip. Poor men of my tribe! His single biggest unforgivable sin is the lack of aesthetic sensibility. So kill the prophets, called mad geniuses and poets despise. I wish I
challenge world and rise up, proud as you do, against the conventions of your village. Perhaps it is that, as Neruda said, it happens that sometimes I get tired of being human. I'm tired of my feet and my nails ... I am tired of being hesitant, shivering with cold, root and a tomb. Perhaps it is I want to be angel, butterfly or apple. But no: I am a man, I am clay, I am a philosopher shitty world, fearful to make matters worse.
You who are free from the petty pleasures of lords (I respect you deeply into your options and you know it) to you that the female body do you think of a soft roundness and soda, which prefer the square shapes, angles, wild curves of males, the breasts without breasts and beards, just before you-and better than anyone, before I can lament the love of women.
poet and gifted are superior to mine, to poetry, art very high with its torments, we have learned to endure.
I like to think that when you love do not worry about generating life (the ultimate crime), and therefore saved in each copulation of suffering, and joy that comes with mixed-to innocent little souls who have never wished there .
In your last letter, where I talked about your love poachers discover your being terrible, haunted, spooky, impetuous and hormonal. Out of paradise, you're like a Cain said on his forehead, forced to wander without rest, without resting or calm. Your joy is not in or out, or the acceptance or rejection. The problem here for you and for me, is how to be happy? Or what is the same: how to be one in thought and action, belief and in practice?
Silvia remember when I thought I was expecting a child of mine (you know: there is among some fans walk straight play. Apologize.) It was all a false alarm, "thanks to the devil, I say.
My financial situation is becoming more precarious and I just can not go hungry say "Thank God, 'says my grandmother who is a saint and know the sky and not die like me in the end but confessed impenitence and peace.
As in human love and I do not think (not in his poetry and artistic fascination capacity), I only have friends. Perhaps not even God is with me because, in my grief, just convert ("I fight?) With Him, and He, while busy in destroying, not listen. If you talk, I do not believe, ask her for my soul. Just remind my name if I remember ... if it exists.
I hope this letter does not take too long to arrive. If you feel this is a very safe, more respect for privacy to I have, have, right for fear of the men of your clan, tell me and write only to your email.
Greetings to our friends in common. To your young disciples, so free. Your family. A land of Antioquia.
of you brothers,
El Peregrino. Explanation
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