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If I was under her gun

Read my mind, and with little substance
my words will come close.
And the lyrics do not you come close, I would
company or perhaps to circle you, and you talk

[but not me or you]

would see in me, but not address space, would wait with you
and follow your steps.
at the forefront of the evening that have yet to dawn.

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(intitulado así)

Not knowing in my shoes, not knowing anyone in my place, not to admire.

[and hanging in your eyes]

Abstracted and vagabond in your eyes are almost green when they want and when want are brown, and when they are without are not. The pair of eyes of yours that does not flood in your voice that breaks, which break down your throat laughing. and look at me, sometimes without looking at me and sometimes without saying anything ... and sometimes just by looking at me.

[as I watch just to look in your eyes]

And your skin, where he died the look, target each of the words will not say, for fear of ceasing to be looked at, for fear that I have stop looking at you, while you look after night after going through your pupils

[after thinking without thinking]

Not knowing what to do. Lost in your eyes.

[Your glows purple eyes] Where are you hiding
sometimes

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Si de regalos hablamos...

A quiet day



a cloudy afternoon coffee, a cigarette

a Book of Joyce

A seat in the Prado

A song Charly

A quiet waiting ...

... just missing you

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Prosa inútil (Reminiscencia II)

"For if you were just in case"

if he were afraid, if I had at least something, anything but emptiness and sand falling from the cuffs, if only there were anything beyond or closer. At least if I knew the exact words to this piece of nonsense text. If only ... if only ... If you just received the acknowledgment.

Or maybe even silence wrong, the wrong tune, or if I were your sound here between my chest and the sword, between the wall and my back if someone had at this very moment. If you were a breath in the blue membrane.

And only I have this blank stare, the incendiary spirit and burning papers that are at least better than this useless prose.

No excuses bearer of the same

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Reminiscencias (I)

Yesterday was April, and if there were any doubts was six. With what hurts it.

was not so bad, although it was too, yesterday was April and also became a song.
Yesterday
rain fell in April and in the meantime, became dark and it became clear, and the winds have blown, just a little. is not a doom far, only a slow night which overlooks the ledge.

Yesterday was April ... I do not remember what it was that six pupils were robbed.

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Túneles

(I Called her again and again, But Something WAS missing)

Then I realize, it WAS only in the light echoes
Then she talk, Then I walked, and then ...
just in time ... She flew away

accurate
Two steps, or perhaps more, that's where he lost the certainty, and two consecutive steps culminating in the unleashing of their first vision was a delusional construction of a river, flowing rivers dry, rivers receding stealing water clarity. Not given to the steps, stared into the abyss of the river and floating stones in the bottom of his vision.

lost five minutes once you were given, and walking understood and gave the space that had won, and walked in his voice shivering in the heat of the light of day that housed his footsteps away, withdrew view of the horizon and landed on the bottom of a glass that remained immovable, and over and over and over again and remained floating listening as it fell and was falling, while hovering.

And the only thought that went through the clouds was an impact sound of his footsteps silent sound of the wind settled.

'll travel in your dreams

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Summer Rain

We are the lost generation

"Do not risk the life I said a suicide"
-pardon the rhyme, I swear that there will be no-

Tonight, we Were drunk and stoned, society dropouts, kings and queens
, pero outsiders in Our kingdom. Before We Were
lost, Before, Before,
Before what? Before, Before what?
before plunging before face reality,
before hitting the pavement beneath the bridge.
We were lost before we were in the decay curve announced.

We shed blood, we shed tears, But we share anything at all,
Withdrawn Cowards pushing buttons without looking into each others eyes,
drinking'n smoking, without speaking
Chickenshits, consistent with lowering the head, New Age losers, Addicts
"Everything is OK", we are all happy,
We're a happy family, me, mom and daddy, I want to party and easy formulas


Tonight we need drugs and booze, we need "I-am -feeling-alive "pills,
to carry on.
're Going Through the dawn, surfacing Through the darkness, to escape
good rather than preconceived reality for us,
immersed in these "drugs" and the bottles of booze "to make us strong.
and invent a reality, "wannabe" where we are afraid to feel alone, isolated
, outsiders, clochards, dripping with his blood in exchange for socializing without communicating. We need those excuses to play mirages "Mirage."

kiss A mirage, a mirage of approach, a Mirage of disposable love,
a one night stand and the illusion that having a good time is to be happy.
mirage Saturday night, or Friday 3 AM, and the excuses for not mourn

And cry, baby, Do not drop tears in vain. because when the whole effect is over, you'll
be back, with a happiness hangover and Wishing to be dead, or at least drunk again. stoned again, and out of this place you

angst ... again But do not worry, the weekend you'll be out again, and forget for another 4 hours are not more than a generation x outsider, a little piece of shit who does not know how to move in a disposable world.

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Sin espacios

In my daring raid by the absurd places,
am nothing more than a ghost looking for a scar
why strain my silence in your dreams.

And maybe sleep calmly in your lap,
again and again while I hide in corners
of a world that neither know.

Among the contours of a time waiting, looking


may be and make me a word that emulates

rapt silence with which I look;
from which to attempt ASIRT with some speed.

and awakening time and time again,
or invading a world that may disappear,
seek incessantly to annihilate
closing eyes appear in a place I do not know-
pledging again jump into the void,
with the fear of crashing into the ground again
of your bare feet.

Back at infinity, the slope of the fall, feeling a presence
I
empty for a moment, you get to see in absent light and dark-

and noise, and frequency of your voice, my presence
undulating magnetism warm breath blind. In an instant
swirling around me,
-around my ghostly presence, appear,
and embrace my being ethereal, and I can not flee,
encuntra me and if I run into you.
-not-want to run away more

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LOST DREAMS

M is lost dreams were born without conception, pages torn from a history incontinua, missing parts of a bizarre puzzles, black holes that consume my energy transported to this surreal universe where past, present and future cease to be a logical sequence to become nails that hold me to that cross that has been wrought with pain caused by what should be and not was. Of these dreams is better not to speak, for it is overwhelming that over perpetual live like ghosts in my heart.

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Would you dare? Stubbornness

"I remember the day we try to do a picnic, at the wooded site where I could see the lake? There were complications and left too late. When we arrived at the site, a persistent drizzle falling, the air was so wet that we could not find where to light the coals for the barbecue ........ And to make matters worse, so race, I forgot the matches. We could not roast the meat, and we could not open the can that we took (the content can not remember) because they took the opener ..... Not even a knife.

I do not know how to uncork the wine ... the Chilean Pinot Noir, you miss the head, making you'd laugh out loud I did the tantrum, angry with myself for having messed up.

Guess what? I would repeat that day ...... But this time try to make things right, without forgetting anything, that everything went like a charm ....... But if you tuck the leg again and could not start the fire, open the can or uncork the wine, I would not mind ....... To have on hand any something to replace my old Volks Wagen, and you and I, as we hear the sound of rain, cold skin expusiéramos to tarnish our heat the crystals, as so often did, would by happy and well-lived than experience.

Would you dare?

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l E epic romantic pursuit of the conquest was never hard for me as when I decided to get the girl. I thought it would be easy, but it took me three months to harass those who joined a declaration of love and two appeals that responses obtained by a "let me think a few days", a "not yet" and "give me a little more time", which almost lead me to the renunciation.

She was temperamental and unruly, had a beautiful face and long black hair more beautiful than I have ever seen .... but her eyes were brown which, despite its insolent look, made me lose myself in the poetry with which the operator drew women.

The coveted "Yes" transformed my birthday (May 15, 32 years ago) one of the most pleasing thing I remember, but our romance did not survive the war we are waging a stubborn few who never knew love ponder because our encounters were almost always it is to drown love swallow pride and show no pain. If not for the memory of the smell of rain and the electricity that we created with the touch of our hands, or the fire that came between us with the simple proximity of the kiss, it would not be able to understand the nonsense with which both feelings insufferable bun that so stubbornly wanted to call it love.

"Man is jealous if loves women too, but not love." -Kant-

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artisanal fishermen

L to "Las Salinas" was a lonely beach and hidden in the Pacific where I used to watch the most beautiful sunsets, or walking at night to feel overwhelmed by the infinite number of stars that shone on sea and land. The fish broke with their dark silhouettes and the twinkling lights of the horizon markers to carefully draw the moon, and the white foam of the waves eternal companion, dipped my bare feet to find the black sand.

Small crabs ran all over the cover of darkness to take the food that the sea brought them, so did the old Rosendo, ready with a line, hook and bait for a new day in your work life. A few shots of cheap rum, a pair of unfiltered cigarettes and an unforgettable fishing lesson "clean line" was what I got for her company that night, and for helping to pull the line from time to time.

about to break the dawn, after several hours of fierce fighting, Rosendo exploded in laughter, and I laughed with him laughed release: a mere 50 kilos more than he lay exhausted on the sand. The old man had earned Rosendo support her family, and I had won a memorable experience, a couple of kilos of fresh fish, and the invaluable friendship of a humble artisan fisherman.

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FACE BROKEN PROMISE INERT

M attached that night unable to concentrate. The road was always a bad adviser, the monotony of the white line led me to the most absurd soliloquy: "We were maybe a few bitter enemies pretending to invent a new form of love? No, not much else we arrived, we were just the intersection a stupid woman haunted by a perverse and wicked woman playing with a stupid obsession.

I stopped in the middle of the long road, a jeep had fallen from a bridge. He was turned over a stream that wound into the yellow vastness of a cane that he expected the harvest. The driver, a young man, was trapped with half out of the vehicle, was on his back, plunged in just a few inches of water. While ingenious people pulleys and levers, I observed: open eyes with an expression of having given up as the water flowed gently on her face. I suddenly saw clearly that face was mine. The surface was so close, but I was caught by a strange feeling: love terribly infected with hatred, which was willing to trash myself. I had given up ...... I was that man that my eyes were inert.

"You do not drown by falling into the water but remain immersed."

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M artin had piloted the Cessna for years, and this was a routine flight, about a couple of hours : lead payroll to a farm on the south coast and return with empty saddlebags. He landed safely on the track overgrown, and minutes later the flight resumed without further external support than a tattered sleeve indicating wind direction. Off due south and then made a spiral to gain height, then headed toward the device "4 degrees north." Things had changed since he undertook the trip in the morning, the sky had been overcast, but with reasonable visibility, now dressed in a gray, almost black, and the wind that had previously been very calm, whipped from south to north bursts of considerable intensity. Martin weighed his options and, not forgetting his word to his wife to get home for lunch, decided to go ahead. No more was heard of him until a scouting party found the wreckage of his plane in an almost impenetrable ravine on the slopes of an extinct volcano.

The plane showed signs of having been working properly, so everything suggested that Martin became disoriented due to bad weather. It was impossible to determine whether he died on impact, or was seriously injured after the accident, the only clear-anyone who has been the case, is that the unfortunate pilot spent his last moments to see the laminated photo of his wife and children which, 12 years later, still clutching his bones.

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l E shiny bird shudders to sustain such a prolonged clash with the thick wall cloud that stretches along the route. The tremendous rush brought to my awareness of the fragility of my life and the cocoon precious metals, polymers and fibers that surrounds me. For now you must keep the same altitude so as not to affect the heavy traffic, then we can add several thousand feet to the ground distance between the twin and the souls who cross in this limbo amorphous.

The wind crushes the little drops of rain against the transparency of this device overwhelmed, forcing them to spread under the enormous pressure, is put to work the other wipers, visibility would still equal zero.
find the time to open finally arrives, the roof has been gray and rainy back, and the lovely view of the vast blue, looks out from the confines of my soul a sublime feeling and thinking that accompanies it is inevitable: Why do tend to forget that over the layer surrounding stormy life so often, invariably opens a clear sky, endowed with extraordinary beauty?

soon be initiated the descent will be entering again this chaotic space, the survival instinct I replayed her notorious pranks, his cold sweat copiously, think hard on the people I love and I will give thanks to God because there are always storms like this that have the power so deliciously wonderful spice to the most insignificant life.

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OPEN LADY D'ARBENVILLE

What I heard and how often? Never mind, I want to hear again, "On the radio" Dona Summer, that is the song sounded in the Christmas of 80, 00:05 am the exact moment that changed me, not him that I had understood it-but by wealth. I hear it again and I feel nothing, no pain or sadness, just the memory of which, fortunately, never came to be. "The Windy City" and rent a small apartment were left without us, what choice ... But our dreams? ... Where would our dreams?

The news cheered me at any time, however I must confess, my friend, that when I heard, I felt like I heard once again "On the radio", without any pain or sadness. Surely mine it was just a whim, used to say ... But you, my "Lady D'arbenville" ** What was yours?

On your grave, distance, forgiveness, forgetfulness and a flower.

** Lady D'arbenville is a song by Cat Stevens have taken the title for this post.