Tuesday, December 29, 2009

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Keep me

(Pedro Guerra - Jorge Drexler)

care of my lips,
care of my laughter.
Take me in your arms, Take me slowly
.

never not mistreat my fragility,
treading the earth that you tread.

care of my hands,
care of my fingers. Dame
caress,
he rest in them.

never not mistreat my fragility,
I will be your mirror image.

care of my dreams,
care of my life.
careful who you want,
careful who you care.

never not mistreat my fragility,
I will embrace you relief.

Feed my eyes,
Watch over me face. Open
roads,
Give me the words.

never not mistreat my fragility, strength
tomorrow I

Saturday, December 26, 2009

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Sunday, December 20, 2009

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take care of me ... to be the void that we are in the background.




Evacuated from the depths of my emotions and experiences. Evacuated
all possibility, the emotions I'm feeling now will soon be invaded by others not imagine. Right now is the time where all doors are open, is the right time before being aware of how some are closed and others are for later, and others never will not be reopened.
is the feeling of emptiness before full.
vertigo.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

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1 2

Jingle Bell Rock

1

The anticipation with which the business arm
their windows
allusive to Christmas
establecen tiempo e inmanencia:
podemos tener una caracterización del rito
-la tele enseñó que hay nieve, felicidad, canciones en coro por nenes,
jingle bells rock por Lindsay Lohan
y los mejores regalos que puedas imaginar-
aún así, cada año la exaltación hará
que la exigencia sea más grande:
los papás se visten de papá noel,
-si tomás la 503 en diciembre, el Palihue neighborhood
becomes Postal Movie:
each house has walls and trees in your front yard
full of flashing lights,
there chillout Christmas CDs
and a glut of people charged with bow tie bags;
the Christmas spirit come into existence.

2

My grandmother came every Christmas
with sweet elder and middle colorful
woven by it for all the grandchildren:
us the skating estrenábamos
newly waxed floor by mother.
To my brothers and me, we did
sweet bread with nuts and chocolates only
because we did not like dried fruit;
I watched the cadence with which kneaded
-in back room, we used laundry
where a table Large wood-
red nail and hair always beautiful.

3

not remember desired frenzy
any specific gift.
lived next to a kindergarten;
came all our uncles and cousins \u200b\u200b
and played in the sandbox and slide
while my dad was grilling.
We stole the remains of cider while large dancing.
Attracted by the glitter of the coals
approached me while I burned my knees,
nurse my uncle treated me with toothpaste.
More than Santa Claus, longed for the mystique of the Kings:
we left shoe, an orange bowl full of water
grass for the camels and then disappeared.

4

Should we look at ourselves, then, with the strangeness Tim Burton's Jack?:
wonder about this festival, saying: What, what?
why the insistence on the disproportion and artifice
or mandate to be perfect for a day
when disclosure may be the moment of authenticity:
there
the possibility of being corny and sing
all I want for Christmas is you
and the memory of happiness when we were young naive
can act as latency of these seeds
supporting boundary conditions
and all those things that could destroy
are the same as they germinate.

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Christmas






The best Christmas song.

Happy holidays to all.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

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Christmas.Is.All.Around

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

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"Before the eggs have to cut someone, there are exhaust all possibilities. "

Fabián Casas" Asterix, the manager "in Lemmings and other stories

Thursday, December 3, 2009

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together.



oh yeah were back now, oh!
more bad news on the radio
planet earth shes about to explode, yeah.
the stars have lost their shine today
they have all been blown away
together, only hope can be away

let me hear you say

one day, well be together
well never be apart,
one heart, one mind yeah
one day well be together
remeber this old world is yours and mine (yeah)

see that man with a pen and gun?
says its over for everyone (oh no)
no I dont believe its true
but, I guess its up to me and you
together, we will find a way through

I believe in you

one day, well be together
well never be apart,
one heart, one mind yeah
Be well together one day
remeber this old world is yours and mine (yeah)
oh oh oh ...


Wednesday, November 25, 2009

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emotions riots. 0.0000001

Love speaks with her eyes.

stunned me.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

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I do not know how to ease my heart,
is very sick boy.

Friday, November 13, 2009

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The fair was beautiful. Thanks to everyone for participating and coming.

Guy's Opinion On Brazilians

***



My friend Victor took photo of my favorite book review of Marina Serrano, "Training Hospital," published in NEXUS . /////





Marina Serrano
Let
Training Hospital in Love, 2006.
96 pages / Poetry
$ 25

By Lorena M. Curruhinca


Serrano began his book with verses: "In a hospital a child with anencephaly live, / The strange thing is the word live." The poem ends by telling the doctor's decision not to revive the boy if he goes on strike again and the poet announces the question: "(Do you ever revive?)." It's that raw and intimate, throw the question bouncing on ourselves and make it his own.
So, Marina, becomes a poetic chronicle their way through several hospitals as a student of kinesiology. Converts that movement, that stroll through the horror and pain of patients in the testimony of someone who does not use the facility to show the tragic self-learning-foiled be hardened to the inevitability of death: the finding of lack of power in situations where no action to heal, the personal limit to death "(if there is an entity called death / and occupies a volume) ". Even with all this, Serrano's poetry comes not only about the transfer and because he shares his view of reality in a way that we do not expect an individual role establecidamente kept away and even some immunity and custom to the disease itself, but because it records its own dynamics and provides us with courage and suffering: "And the medicine man was / ate my faith."

Sunday, November 8, 2009

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I read your eyes and I can not call your name

share with you the beautiful text Luciana Mello, poet dreams from the South South , envisioned as a recognition of Roberto Bolaño, who I came to share. Immensely grateful, as always, for the opportunity to re-read between the lines of your poem.

"Pierre Menard, the trans-Andean "

For Andrea Cobas Carral, who loves like me and knows this memorioso
much

Which version infiltrates the memory of the bodies
surly / scrupulous / constrained?
What word does the first traces of meat oozes
when packs / when Cernea storms?
Who fuels the fire of this trust word of mouth
in the fleeting breath join us?
strange thing is that I read the pupils and I can not call your name,
night detective, already dead for me
I can never tell how your voice precipitated
the best liquor to remember and incites my vigils.
chorister of each buttock, each phallus, each wound vagina
Desfondada by the violence of a Nazi America
surviving remains
persists in schools on TV in the newspapers
buildings in public private residences
in politics and politicians
in mirrors there, behind the mountain range in
mirrors here, behind the mountains.
How I can I say without offending anyone,
that only your voice that spills out of the edges of books,
always straight angles of the leaves / of books I
the disruption of simultaneity abridged weightless
anachronies of horror experience ever tied one to one
all first or all in orsay?
only on your tongue longer blindness metaphor
trials of the hinges of a homeland sought against the glass, in the distant sky.
in your language, it is also mine, I realized that the history of peoples should not
written or run once or
because the story is longer and entangled itself. Definitely
your print is the memoirist Pierre Menard,
Pierr with two Rs migrating odd end to your name.

Luciana Mello "Pierre Menard, the trans-Andean" in Rustle speech

Saturday, November 7, 2009

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has begun!


The second self-managed publishing fair started yesterday.
Today again, the 15 to 21 pm, to Sunday 8.

Come!

Friday, October 16, 2009

Card Game/frustration

ode to coffee

* shiup! *
ay! I got burned!

* gulp, gulp gulp *
ahhh ~

* hmmmm *
what rich.



Friday, October 9, 2009

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Sage

* sigh *


- When will we get?
- I do not know the answer, baby.



lying on the floor of the courtyard, looking at the top of the tree, feeling "something", stretched as a cross
- why the sea is blue?
And the child answered, the sky is and is reflected in it.
- imitation.


- If every being in this world is to avoid damage to natural why men are given they do not want to receive?
And the child replied: ... sometimes feel scared and like any wild animal, to defend themselves from danger, attack the unknown.


Saturday, September 26, 2009

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secretly because my heart was small.


Okay, maybe my wings and learned to fly.

T iene reason among almost transparent touch that line between awkward and conform to ignore details, there is undefined.
but I can not breathe deep, let it touches me every fiber and watch my heart is sincere.
say, the philosophical language, that time does not exist.
Grannies complain because they see things happen and returned. And men connected with external life preaching that the time is simultaneous.
Perhaps, that to pay the costs of delay or immaturity indecision is a myth ... just prehistoric minds typical rigid (or "typical IM rigid mind?) . Maybe you just want to feel freer, more hopeful, hold on to something, some reason, even if it is vague .
Then God that made us able to imagine?
Ya. Are my dreams.
Well, also said that the existence of something does not determine its usefulness, that is, not because something exists (which is in the world) necessarily be useful for something . Perhaps only and just imagine, dream, fantasize and devised its own sake.
And who cares.
have hoped things, then we put things in the world.
That is the power co -creator.
Nobody has said no, but ourselves and between ourselves.
And if we say no ... what right do they have?
No no ... the contrary, what obligation do we have to listen to them?


Moral of the parties could : Just do and defend it .

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

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petal salt.

U n angel kiss my eyes
kiss my eyes an angel
every night deposit at the center
deposited at the center every night
some crystal essence
essence glass flowers in my chest
occupying flowers in my chest all
all deals and mature
salt a rose blooms
salt-rose blooms
and petals falling one by one
one to one drop their petals
and slide down my cheeks
for my the angel passes cheeks
contemplating the void
and the center left, feeling nothing
feels nothing when it is in the center.

An angel kissed my eyes
at night when I found.

Monday, September 14, 2009

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Reflection.


am suffering
not know what to do in these cases.
only ... support me.

Friday, August 28, 2009

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sometimes the moon in my skin. Woman looking southeast


the moon in my soul.




So, like any worse of a pisco .
So, it started to shine in a pisco .
maravillozo is to make sense of things, yet alone understand it and still can not share at all, when a flower grows in the imagination, awaken your dreams and desire to do everything light up every second day. It is a safety in the chest in the center, something much stronger than any certainty (or validity) of reason.
And he missed this feeling.

Last night the power went off while doing math exercises, so I went for a sail, but I did not exercising, but instead went to the room, and look around the golden color of the candle was so charming. I put on my pajamas, and I was a living statue of pure gold. And that feeling was enough, just that, to remember what captivating detail, this spontaneous, natural, those who ofcourse, do not wait. All happiness is unexpected, as it speaks my good André Comte-Spomville.

And if I recall further, that said "hope is the last thing to lose," for sure!
The ultimate hope is lost, even if the latter, as is lost.
then life teaches you to distinguish hopes dreams.
never, never have to miss the intereza to learn. The only thing that will make us valuable at the time, the last time before you'll feel. You'll know you got it and so you know you helped them understand.




Monday, August 24, 2009

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The second second.



Because the poet does not know its make, it just makes for inspiration, as Aristotle said .
They can teach us not to write poetry. Just endless springs from his fingers, his eyes engrossed in shooting details. I remember one time sublime inspiration, unconscious associations of color words and feelings all in one sentence. There was a time in my life in my writing even exceeded my actual experience. Every time I read them I am amazed because they have something to teach, something that previously could not read.
But now ...
Somehow philosophy was or was, for me. Or me for it?
perfect shoe for some reason. But ...
Perhaps it was so loud that my sense of frustration invisible bloke is . Even evades those things. I like them, read them, move me, I love them equally. Just ... nothing comes from me.
I see friends so excited to know things, to ration things, to argue properly to demonstrate that they are right, and that to me and not my attention. I like looking at them, understand them, associate maybe ... but if I have to argue something, defending something, it's hard as ever.
's funny.
I'm something of melancholy.



Monday, August 17, 2009

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(w)
mesientoatrasadaymeentristecenopoderviviresasexperiencias.

Friday, August 14, 2009

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age I can not help from heaven.

never nothing belongs to us.


be something more precious than lost?
That feeling that suddenly walk walk and walk
and feel as time goes by your body, your eyes and your hands
And your mind, static.
because there is only room for feelings.
when the body is
is the time of the move
no reason has to do here
only my senses.

vibration resonates
a heartbeat, body
nobody controls
moves alone and move the world
is the sun of my body
lives, ceaseless , I depend on it
and I've never seen
know how grateful I am to him?

appears light dazzles me
warms me
my eyes
my skin
crouch look

is a shadow, I cornered
gives me cold
my emotions
my feet
I like the shadow of things
thank you, dear shadow, suffer, cry, cry me
find the relief that makes me understand
is to assess to the details,
details hug with your invisible cloaks
depend on light, no light from you,
and yet you so important .


body's time
no space is right
one needs you,
at least for a few endless seconds.
is time of movement.
the permanent (and painful) motion





Monday, August 3, 2009

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not find it very funny ... Jostein Gaarder twenty

ay, ay, ay, it hurts.


One day, when he told me, I wondered: "What we need is not necessarily is nice." Until I found him normal. But then I realized ...

Not that the ideas are coherent, this is not a text, nothing is woven very well because the wool is very different from the wire, chewing gum, a hair . This is not a text. But it is understood.
Well, I asked: What is the difference? and I said, smiling: none.
But it was a lie.
And it did not matter. He knew very well what were the differences.
The difficulty of the language is the easiest to understand, although not even know to explain it.
But no importance to explain the differences were so obvious that it was silent.
Everything was different. It's like a scale model, where one piece is modified so that the model is re-armed. And he re-located.
walked along the coast. It was very soothing for some time not walking with someone without that awkward silence.
was true, I thought, there are silences white and black silences .
My specialty is the white silence, you know?
And we started talking.
is not difficult to talk to people.
is hard for people to talk to you. I do not know, maybe you think are important or too insignificant. So do not speak until they talk.
sometimes afraid, sometimes they have nothing to say.
And it's true.
I do not care. Every day there are fewer things that I care and every day I see my hands and I see more and more big and beautiful.
was cold and tired. I left early. I had to study.
But the worse excuses failure. And even known something new, I felt hurt.
lot.

Monday, July 27, 2009

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soi large and small at the same time, how strange

































































Tuesday, July 21, 2009

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*

Small pleasures.























" A ctuar
responsibly is not equivalent to sharpen the reason, but to exacerbate the feelings."










I can not find Mystery Solitaire = (

Thursday, July 2, 2009

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... one day the wall fell


(8)

In a world that
live without love,
free ... you are my song

And the immensity,
opens around
beyond the limit ... heart. Nace

feeling,

in the middle of crying,

and high rises ...
and will

and fly over the gesture of the people,

all noblest indifferent,

outside the warm kiss of love ...

of pure love


In a world - one day falls Wall-

prisoner is - covered with wild roses
free-breathed ... - Revive or not
you and me. - It rises or not ...

But the truth, "left Forest -

clearly shines today, and therefore surviving virgin-

and clear your music ... -Open or not

sounded - is closed or not


New sensations, new emotions

,
are expressed purely ... you.
The veil of the ghost in the past, falling

leave the box

immaculate and a timid wind of love,

of pure love ...

and covers you ... [...]



And the immensity,
opens around
beyond the limit ... heart. Nace

feeling,

in the middle of crying,

and high rises ...
and will

and fly over the gesture of the people,

all noblest indifferent.

I am very proud of this.
not even matter that you have understood the past.
not even matter that others do not understand.
Because I discovered how to make it understandable. Hm ... thanks


Tuesday, June 30, 2009

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[white]


links.



What is it to know everything?
to know everything?
of it all?
ah?
What is it to have something?
of losing something?
to find something?
ah?

If suddenly our eyes were opened
only thing we would want is to close them and open
, this time from a pisco

Many out there will tell you why or what
and although your intuition tells you that they can be right or not
the end the choice is yours so that even you might be amazed what you are capable and powerful


discovered that two types of intuition.
Or rather, there are two demonstrations of intuition.
A occurs in those people whose mind is more observer than anything else y dentro del ambiente "algo" les parece anormal o fuera de lo común, suele darles desconfianza o extremada confianza, sin saber el porqué exactamente; luego, con el tiempo suelen descubrirlo. La realidad les da la razón y se cumple lo que intuyeron.
Son mentes conectadas de alguna forma consiente con la fuente temporal y lo demuestran con su intelectualidad, por lo que son más llevados a la teoría. Tienen grandes facilidades para los buenos negocios y buenas relaciones por sus proyecciones a futuro.

La otra se da en personas cuya mente es más divergente, incluso con personalidades más "inocentes" puesto que demuestran la intuición de forma inconsciente. Por lo general son artistas con "dotes" adivinatorios; songs, paintings, novels or poems that after a long match reality. These people own connectivity to the source a bit more invisible, their focal observation is neither the "theorizing" but emotions.

There are also daily demonstrations in states that tend to be sporadic and immediately useful as wearing a certain thing "because it occurred to me," not be such a garment, do not call that person at that time, do not cross the street, etc. . Perhaps

many other shows there.

Now I remember, for psychology, these intuitions are given because our memory records a permanent situation but do not remember it. That is, everything that happens deserves a solution, that solution that we generate new neural connections that endure over time, but do not remember it, then when faced with new situations with the same pattern, say, "circumstantial" our neurons work and you're done! Intuition to the table.
But I doubt that.
not rule it out, I do not care. Actually I think there are many new situations in our lives we meet for "insights" not because we did something similar before. Although this theory
piscológica ... (no doubt there are more, I have not looked) is fun because it presupposes the ... uh, validity of the theory the eternal return ...
Well, that.
White, white, I autoregalado a white parka, I am delighted with the target.
Tomorrow will be the green, past the blue ... and so on.




If suddenly our eyes were opened
only thing we would want is to
closing and opening, this time from a pisco

People often believe that the more the better
... do not know 'what to expect.