Tuesday, November 7, 2006

How Long With End Stage Liver

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Staircase in Capri, John S. Sargent

Since King is dead.

in my blog I go forward always, my blog without kings. Bahia calm

Thanks for the visits and love sincere. I leave here a kiss.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Switching Grommets On Curtains

if life gives you lemons ...

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He told me that Small laughed at her for that metal in her voice. She never made fun of the chubby filling, or the cuatrojos, nor the mulatto son of a Marine who once docked at the port and did not return, or the man who laughed like a pig or the girl with the protruding ears and headband pink. Pero sí se carcajeaba de su propia particularidad. Nunca se opuso a que la llamaran C3PO, aunque a ella quien le gustaba realmente era Hal 9000 y siempre que tenía ocasión lo imitaba y se dejaba caer en el suelo como si se desinflara y entornaba los ojos, a punto de un desmayo, cantando cada vez más lento, con gran comicidad, para deleite de todos los presentes que agradecían el numerito con fuertes aplausos: Daisy, Daisy...
Ahora trabaja de actriz de doblaje en el cine. Le ha puesto voz a robots femeninos, androides con tetas tipo Madonna, Afrodita A pareja de Mazinger Z, replicantes, etc. Tiene un novio guapísimo, me cuenta entusiasmada. "It's an exact replica of Roy Batty, the leader of the Nexus 6, Blade Runner, created by man but smarter and stronger . Fucks like no other."

And when a call interrupts us promises to be a latazo simply replies, "you have dialed the phone is off or unreachable. Please try again later."

Monday, July 3, 2006

Ooh And Aah Stuffed Animals

is one year for each clock beginning sandstorm

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Leaning on his chest, the woman reads her story is a tree that holds among its branches a tiny shelter-hut with a window into the golden sea at sunset. The space contains a chest that conceals a secret map without treasure, but with a maze that is lost by a woman reading aloud and flies over the gray sky of a July 3 Santiago. There, on a nameless street, accidentally lands on a man with a hat and scarf burgundy. The wife comes home with his enthusiasm for the sun to give her laughter and while walking through the streets in the dark with the sound of his footsteps on the pavement, he whispered in my ear that can be written a few letters. (She hears him hanging from his sleeve and give thought to those words for many tomorrows. Then he bites the mouth and neck and kisses him slowly, slowly the lips in a corner booth of the hill). They discover that eyes mirror it reflects the desire to live with her and open their wings to descend together to a beach where they perch on the rocks, sheltered from the wind and the anesthetics that conquered time and desire. There, away from predators, he recovers his composure and still counting: the story of a man tree that housed a woman shelter with his strong arm and leg on his chest hides a treasure chest with no maps, no mazes, and shattered dreams, but with tens returning kisses the only window to the sea of \u200b\u200bgolden eyes. And verses and words. Cone woman rocks the cello voice. Both are clothed with the whispers of the waves tireless and certain future.

It's time to toast with a glass of Merlot, no noise, for one year vanished. Nothing.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

How To Make A Dispenser

drowns me effort and a mouth full of sand too open in a storm of anxiety and agitation.

You left a desert next to your desire in a glass container that seizes and strangles me my windpipe torn from screaming: get me off the clock ...

Friday, June 9, 2006

Fastest Start Up Antivirus

we do not talk

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to another can, I do not. There is loneliness that is going to kill me, because not even know if I saved together now. Nor speak of suicide, not that, I have no way to finish me. Sharks were quick to come and pray to be dead when I start to bite. I get no pleasure from that vision of myself, human remains adrift.

Loneliness has beaten me many times, but now it is not, not now. I will die because I have no blood, I have broken body, stab-stitched, I have not wanted to live like I do not care, but were by my side. Because long ago we were alone together in silence, and so we made love one last time and we devoured with passion as he cut my skin, endless gaps on my breasts, my back, my arms and legs, which then licked in a mad attempt to stop the arrival of my death, but I asked you to accelerate it. (And the pain in your eyes, love, your eyes and rubbing the tips of your fingers on my face in a desperate gesture of worship

...!) And I groaned, and I complained. Everything fell into silence again. The isolation and helplessness that has jaded us both.

time ago when we still trod the phrase with wit, when we embarked together on this odyssey, never promised not achieve the absolute isolation, before we ever leave: a jump over the side and the other sail in search of better fate. We came from stories corrupted and did not want to relive the degree of deterioration in love.

I have had my jump. With your help ... At the end of the day, before making love one last time, when you throw yourself and you offered to me in my safe in the boat, dumb.

is true, I do not talk. I do not care about to keep quiet and gives you the same as street or talk to you because I listened too, and pay attention to my answers. Much less to my questions. I prefer to be the silence that accompanies me, I have nothing to say and you have nothing to listen.

Now we hear the same thing, you in the stern, I in water: nothing.
waves splashing in cadenza on five sides, synchronized to the ship and me. Stealthy flight bubbles exploding in thousands of drops and hit your eyes glassy and my eyes lost. Discreet murmur of spray that is synchronized, progressive, with the caution that isolates us.

The salt burns my wound, it hurts almost as much as the abandonment chosen. And the bones are chilled. My mind dulled with this overdose of silence drunk my thoughts.


"I did not talk" you whispered to push me overboard and your last words sway me now on red foam, with severe sleepiness overcomes me.