En esto ha quedado lo que parece perdurable. Llamarse culto sin un fondo de lectura: imposible. Durante siglos se respetaron y se apreciaron la lectura, los libros, la cultura literaria. Uno de sus libros favoritos era El Conde de Montecristo.
|Published (Last):||7 February 2005|
|PDF File Size:||11.91 Mb|
|ePub File Size:||8.16 Mb|
|Price:||Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]|
The hour changes time into other forms of desire. A woman needs no bra in summer. A kiss after a fuck. A way to depart. There is always a way to disappear in your addiction. So use your sharpest knife, hombre. The sky is filled with dirty words. If you seek history or philosophy, buy a razor and shave your legs to clear your thoughts. If you need more imagination, misbehave. Count your zeros inside out, repeat.
Fuck morphine and logic. Joder, otra vez , she says, as he zips his Jordans. Nothing comes when it should. The night I stayed in her too long, I discovered I could write a tune. The saxophone invents a memory for us, I learned later on. Or good men. I asked for her every morning but when the record I was making took over my mind, the history of my heart dismantling the city, I left every sentence contained in a single tune.
Daily life beats the crap out of marriage, the Holy Spirit and the bottle of wijki. I threw up hijo de puta so come scratch my hair. We are not phantoms yet, not a memory yet.
We are just a riot waiting to be broken and dispersed. It sure makes wanting less difficult. The apples turn into lyrics. Take a piss, man, and tell me who you were in your dream last night. To discover if the intimacy of a shared glance can save us.
The memories are like stutters. Sometimes I inhale for air, and exhale a shaking chain of memories. A choking hazard. I for the ghost. The ghost for me. Burton was born in Kentucky. He moved itinerantly before settling in Oakland. Temperatures rise, so does the suicide rate. It is also an ongoing portrait of my incurable cancer. The cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like pellets in the groove of the Naas Road.
At the crest of the hill at Inchicore sightseers Dominican Republic , Natalya Handal , Poems. Share this article. You may also like. Read More. Editor's Picks. Janice Lee For the Ghost. Jenny Diski is not cheery or brave or serene at the moment….
Amor en la Zona Colonial