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Modern

All modern life will be devastating to the individual. Individuals from other times, Pa'lante father or, like me, unhappy that the slightest provocation they fall or get lost.

Past lives have taught me that there is nothing extraordinary in that life is an absolute full of cycles in it. The incarnation is an act of every day: just think of another place, another time, another body, have already had an astral experience. Low and useless, yes, but astral to the core.
modern
This devastates me.

This life that has made the most contrast blatant and radical pleasure. For example
in the midst of chaos is when it is worth meditating or listening to slow music and harmonic
-guitarrazos I love waking up with quirky or with free jazz and hard to find
-a kiss on the forehead or the softest of caresses right on the cusp of the loving can be a sensual experience
-fed the winger which functions can go far by the whole band took off rivals and controlling the ball, but the goal will be memorable only if pumped the ball gently to the departure of goalkeeper

modern life In my mind the dramatic appearance to the point of raising the level of ecstasy to the discrete individuality, that sweet spot of thought alone, silence abstractor (ah, blessed words that do not exist and yet demand their right to have from time to time.)

modern in my life care about names, categories, descriptions.

enough to admit when I miss the madness, that creative state that is independent of the justifications, as a legitimate means of expression. Read

children.

Lately my best talks I have them with my daughter, they say, still does not speak well.

Shit, why do I understand him to perfection?

Their games are delicious, when transformed into nuts their colors and eats imaginary or invented words like cisocé , kamipopia or kala to name objects to perfection even knowing their names, or those times when mountain climbing, or upholstered flies sky high and prolonged abound between the bed and the ceiling.



This modern life imposed rules and gives terrible trials who do not stick to it, I know. And I hate

.

This life with its emphasis on healing based on moving away pain without wanting to deepen their meaning in what it symbolizes, as the body communicates so wise and millennia.

This brutal life with their weights in finance, politics, religion, culture of countries (perhaps always the same fateful global country), which impose lifestyles eventually unsatisfactory.

This life with that disturbing power of teaching around live everything except this, why is likely to occur then the desire, consumption, egocentricity, fear.

This life, fallible and absurd. Modern

any other era.

(a complaint over the matter, as always with us, those against)

And I came here to talk about something else, shit.

Gay Cruising Okracoke

a poem written 4 years ago: revisited, rewritten, reprinted, rewritten, resigned: reinserted: re:

QUAI D'ANJOU

curious that the scene (no, almost:
two young unevenly)
had a disquieting aura. JULY
CORTÁZAR

- - -
And what to do with the street clear.
All this order and ellipsis, one following another
another
and others that are imaginary
like cracking open
time to take refuge in anything. Palomas
hidden in the gaps of the buildings that go unnoticed

without camouflage.
even a good photographer it would take. I

Before the Quai d'Bourbon
and no wind blowing, but you

blonde women were the clouds, then spent a dove

and I think that a sparrow in front of my face

their faces
our .

Ah, Chapultepec wind
I
you clear the sky and the street.
would have to decide to find a dove shoot.

- - -
I I look,
what I can look into the sun. I watch the clouds

or more precisely:
the space once occupied
but go blind, I prefer looking down

without reaching the ground. Volume

then Paseo de los Andes
y en Monte Nevado ese incienso inservible,
en Cerro Agreste el agua,
Campos Celestes un edificio a medio hacer,
por Noche Pletórica caminando.

Mirar y caminar
son los infinitivos más.
[finitos
finos e) infinitos
-ínfinos-

Luego de mirar me viene el recuerdo
o el registro,
antes es caminar.
Recuerdo la imagen antes que su verdadero cuerpo,
había girado como una veleta de cobre
y los ojos, los ojos estaban ahí.

- - -
Era delicada y linda, como la noche,
salía humo de sus negros ojos,
yo la perdí por verla tanto,
al igual que sucede with nights.

only watch and wait,
something has to happen after watching both.

I'm just as is anyone,
as the night when it is daytime,
and no clouds.

I'm just like a photograph when nobody sees.
as a dove is a cloud that is suspended.
(nostalgia of what was obtained

although it obtained what it was not)

- - -
The night slips
me and I think it might have
other ways not to tell anything.

Why do not the dove comes and hides in the cloud?
Why not come and cover this evening sun? Why women
black-eyed blonde tacit meeting?

not just a poem with a question or questions
what you've read.

Buy Brown Dress From Pretty Woman

The Beauty and The Peace

Thoughts arrive like butterflies ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnFeCex032g&feature=related

I return to the novel I read at 17 years, that it became a common reference among educated people, cocky or not, false or not. Entry in common references still do not get it like reading a novel current, light dialogue. More bien es cavernosa. Más bien es intempestiva. Confrontativa. Pero aún con todo ello sigue siendo un éxito editorial.

Hace unos años abandoné la literatura. La facultad de Letras, sí, pero también el consumo de literatura. También abandoné otros lenguajes, otro tipo de actos como la carretera o el jazz a oscuras, el intercambio de libros o la elaboración de textos incomprensibles, las noches de alcohol, la fotografía contrastada, el montaje en mi escritura, como si con todas esas renuncias buscara cifrar una conquista, algo así como si un músico de blues, harto de tanta melancolía, comenzara de pronto a dedicarse a la jardinería.

No es la primera vez que la renuncia serves as a purge. Something

between such nostalgia and therefore void. Something

abrasive, somewhat hazy, something.

light was not what those lights, it was.

not in those close encounters, no.

Beauty is a partner, has said many times.

And not have to hurt shit, is beauty.

But how to understand, who helps us in this endeavor haunting beauty? It is easier to deal with drugs, it is easier to deal with abusers. Focus

heaven. Focusing on the first glance. Conquered in the disaster mental noise.

In love of fiction. Losing

age with ease.

Knowing how to talk about anything.

There is a certain beauty that brings us to the abyss, not dark, underground party should be prevented. Another beauty leads to desire. Another romance between strangers. Another change in the bud.

There is some noble beauty also returning to the experience of existence.

But none of these beauties have clear ways or methods, rather it is the individual who executes them one way or another. That's where the inexperience we fuck. That's where learning becomes dimension.

I was sick of empty without substance. There's nothing chaotic the gap substantiated that more than a mathematician fascinated. I rather live the quiet vacuum, vacuum inoperative, like having the universe and not knowing how to navigate it (NASA, if it exists for the purposes that we have said, be stuck in this error of perspective all life is not easy, instead of wanting to move tons of technology and chemical processes / astrophysicists roads not fit for it, adapt the object to move to the properties of the road? a technology of thought, shit starts to develop when ?)

And coincidentally, at the storm drain, this novel-publishing success I'm sure I gave as I give today, despite having at that time with the "burden" necessary, or rather, heaviness necessary (though, as the same book raises, light perception, "light", the existence "His hand-reading and no guarantee of delivery). Today

rather believe that there is a game in all this that I am. Suddenly you can be loud distortion that harmonized climax comes as a minute 7, Starla (side-B of the Smashing legendary) but if my daughter comes to ask me something, I put pause and serve, and then I go back to ataraxia of James Iha and company (the pause is then total and in all directions).

Something happens The Unbearable Lightness of Being . The pleasure of reading is given in different sets of opposites: there is a total involvement in emotion and affection for the characters while an absolute distance between them and my own history, there is a sense of torment about my memory and my fantasies while in them a happy and satisfying feeling to be able to perceive and, are in my thoughts coming and going of light and darkness in my desires an object back and forth and spirit in my love a come and go otherness and individualism.

That must be the instability. But heck, it is more stable instability I have experienced.

the happiest.

(last time I've been thinking that there is so much to write about the joy

(And the unit, the unforgettable unit)

(health anity vanity unit)))

Today finally the beauty does not hurt. Or it does, yes, but only if that is what the game. Today finally it becomes easier reírle to misfortune (and the grace of removing of a will), know that a change of perspective heals everything.

And Milan Kundera is fun.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPOv3iyy1qo

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I communicate better by writing. Might be puzzled or paraplegic and would definitely get some life and I communicate better by writing. Lose much, but not lose speech, language would not lose, not lose vitality.

With having traction in either hand, the rid.

and motor on the lips, of course, to smile.

write, love. Write. Write. Written.

crypt The word has come from writing.

Scrabble, too.

Vivo. I am writing. Describe

. Descritura.

Enroll. Hescribir.

My daughter begins to recognize letters and play with them. There is vitality in his adventure. His face is that of a woman devoted to knowledge, given to wisdom. Taking pleasure in the knowledge, wisdom. My daughter is 4 and I think he's more excited about the letters and words with numbers, which has been using for two years.

I urge you to learn to read. Still not sure how I feel about it.

I communicate better by writing, as cats can communicate better in the shadows of the night.

As a child I did not dare to write letters to my male friends, hence do not know the gender friendship male.

a child's notebooks had different personalities, depending on how you write them. I never understood why at the end of the year differed much from each other, some had good lyrics, structure and decoration, others were just words piled up, studs and neglected point, the latter were the bad guys.

It happens that I need the script, perhaps the same way that the elements of nature need of their spirit: a perfect relationship and unwavering, continuous and divine. There

if not writing, I told a friend recently, I can not remember what we were talking. There

for me, of course.

Ese estallido final de la claridad, maldita sea:

.................................. Escribir es volver, volver
.................................. A la escritura donde
.................................. Quien vuelve muere
.................................. Y pasa inadvertido
.................................. Al mirar de otro
.................................. Que no mira, escribir
.................................. Es una espera que dibuja
.................................. and clears the work week,
.................................. Undoing the night
work .................................. painted letters of embroidery
.................................. the night, writing
.................................. Thread tapestry star
cloth .................................. Dark dress strolling
.................................. top of a bridge or look
.................................. That follows the return of a face
.................................. Indifferent,
.................................. So we are returning
.................................. And he hopes that round,
.................................. Being sacked that the bank becomes
.................................. And the bank unknown and saqueante,
.................................. The one and the other,
.................................. Separated by the nail conjunction,
.................................. This and that, the face that goes
.................................. And finally what we say and we slide
.................................. In oblivion,
.................................. Breaking ribs of the boat,
.................................. Sky ribs and mind,
.................................. Definitely the illusion
.................................. In the final burst of clarity.

............................................ JOSÉ CARLOS CATAÑO