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"I'll just keep it to myself in the sun, in the sun"

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She & Him is already!



The book launch of our editorial collective Seed. Naughty

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addition, the fifth issue of This is not a magazine literararia with four plaquettes that bring them.

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Supporting the Editorial Own Photos and poems Cartonera





transcribe:

If you're in favor of reopening the Social Center Class A, which works Cartonera Editorial Own , send the image request to the following address informacion@cultura.imm.gub.uy, with the subject: "explanations by the end of Class."

The idea is to get several mails with the same format, not only as a gesture of solidarity, but also demanding clear information from the closure of this space is ours and which are generated cultural activities, from New Paris, neighborhood residents and we work and conduct meetings for just over a year.


SEND THIS MAIL DOES NOT COST ANYTHING, AND WE, is a gesture that is worth much.

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That beach last

"LOVING ADVANCE "

Not the intimacy of your brow fair as a feast
or custom in your body, still mysterious
and tacit girl
nor the sequence of your life taking words or silence for so mysterious
be like watching your dream

involved in the vigil of my arms.
Virgin again, miraculously, by the absolving
sleep, still and sparkling
like a lucky
choice of memories, I'll
that shore of your life that you yourself do not have.
Cast into stillness,
perceive that last beach of your being
and I'll see for the first time, perhaps,
as God must see,
the fiction of time,
without love, without me.

Jorge Luis Borges Moon opposite

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your name right, your waist

"TALA"

Take these eyes, colored stones, totem
that nose, those lips that
know all the multiplication tables and the finest poetry.
I give the entire face, with tongue and hair, I take
nails and teeth and full weight.
no good to feel that way. What eyes and what fingers. Not that food
heated, memory, attention
or as a pernicious parrot. Take
inductions and hangers hung with the words
laundered. Arree
the house, out of all, let me
as a hole or a stake.
Maybe then, when I was not worth
the generosity of God, that boy scout,
and be like the carpet that has endured its slow
rain shoes
eighty years and is just fabric, of course skeleton which was cleared
rich silver peacocks,
without a voice might say your name right
can occur without hands to reach your waist.

Julio Cortázar

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In the exact center of abandonment

"But a crack in the air or mist or rain can not quell a wound. Do not close a wound a bell. A bell does not close a wound. It was the night Santiago. raining delinquent in the garden of the Inn. I'm going to see the fireworks, "he said to the black people who came from afar to be physically present (in the square lit by fires that occur ever more rapid because the rain prevented the natural deployment, evolution and death). Yes, I said go, go, go (feeling, oh always, in the exact center of abandonment). I saw his eyes glow in the darkness unkind cut, sudden. I saw his eyes at the sound of the storm, burning colors like birds very ephemeral. Let him go, I told myself I do not pretend, do not try, do not understand. Do not leave me I said you exiles. High above, in pure abandonment. Call me little abandoned. Before I saw his eyes away not understanding. Tremulous expression on my face to go to mourn importantly in the night do not know who is left. "

Pizarnik" The Night of Santiago "(fragment) in Prose complete.

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Those eyes that I

"But do not kid yourself: those eyes streaming, transformed, as if you were offered a landscape that only you can guess and hope."

Aura Carlos Fuentes