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Sequence ..........

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So I continue ...

Among yawn and yawn,

I missed the soul

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So we walk ...

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The heart knows reasons that reason does not understand

Sometimes the heart should follow the mind.

Most times, the heart should tell mind:

"Stay at home and not meddle"

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A little tenderness A shout of joy

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Today I look to send you:

a pinch of color

a torrent of joy

a smirk sincere

and my wish that you live every day

attentive to discover

WONDER

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Biches on the internet, I found this statement of love-modern-psychedelic ... hehehe ... What stuff!

If you already know, LOVE is creative, always inventing new ways to express themselves.

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the creativity of love Wait ... Alejandra

I keep waiting for the scholarship. . . . . .

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... My Alejandra ...

if I dare

to look and say

is for shade

together so soft my name

far away in the rain

in my memory

his face

that burning in my poem

beautifully dispersed perfume

a loved

face disappeared.

[Pizarnik, Alejandra. Complete Poetry. Ed Lumen. Sense of absence "from Work and nights. page. 172]

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Today I feel a little Virginia Woolf

Today I stayed home for a while, enjoying the solitude given away, not elected, also desired. I've put the film "The Hours", which I think from start to finish a poetry reading, dramatic, spiritual ... a mirror in which I contemplate myself in so many things ... in the desperate drive chains death to life, life to death in endless hours that I'm looking for myself, beyond the skin, ideas, of being or not ....

And, after seeing the movie, I have come to causation in a blog that had an entry titled: "Today I feel a little Virginia Woolf" ( http://images.google.es / imgres? imgurl = http://www.iespana.es/oscardehollywoodweb/oscar2002/nicolekidman.jpg&imgrefurl=http://libertinajegatuno.blogspot.com/2006/03/ayer-estaba-un-poco-virginia-woolf . html & h = 1058 & w = 790 & sz = 78 & hl = en & start = 15 & um = 1 & tbnid = lpnn13YTHW0bMM: & TBNH = 150 & tbnw = 112 & prev = / images% 3Fq% 3Dvirginia% 2Bwoolf% 26um% 3D1% 26hl% 3des% 26sa% 3DN )

..... and the phrase has resounded within me with the forcefulness with a feather ripping the paper it is written a novel, or a life, or the threat of life we \u200b\u200bnever take ... So, with that momentum needed than not to be counted, because it comes only from every pore of the skin ... and has beaten me this sentence, I looked, I was drawn to myself

TODAY I FEEL A LITTLE VIRGINIA WOOLF

And then, in that fleeting moment in which a decision awareness of how the memory of the dead are reincarnated through the living, of how feelings and Special notes dismal start lucidity through literature, of how one discovers within himself small vestiges of worlds and other previously visited ... the ineffable world in which demons are unleashed, the ghosts of the past is projected into the future, and all the tears of life moans and cries and curls up in his hands and grips the soul from the depths ...

could not say how it feels when "is" Virginia Woolf ... as the poet said: " who tasted it, you know."

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Looking back .. Making

The other day I was leafing through (if you can used the term Internet case) the latest entries I have been adding in the last two months, in this corner so that is my blog. And, really, I see that the thing has evolved entirely from my beginnings. I think at some point, I stopped along the way that good intentions I had, to begin using this space to write reflections "more or less profound", adding poems and make a pseudo-apology "to my style of course - literature and philosophy everyday .....

I see that recently a lot fotito much video, and much comment friki pa out of step ... but little background .... shallow ....

imagine that this is only the subtle reflection of how I walk I therefore ultimately not give what you do not.

For now, just spent time lately, because it's not about me, really. Furthermore, the shallowness of these entries can be, without doubt, the result of the convenience of hanging here anything you find online, for not stopping to ramble great thoughts (although I do not do big things, I must say .. . I always liked to express myself through little things .... of which suggests "no ".... say what has to be interpreted beyond what you write .... hummmmm).

not seeking to justify ... in fact, not even quite understand why I'm typing this entry at this precise-and precious-moment. But nevertheless, I promise that when you have a little time, and a muchito more inspiration, try to retake the twang with which I started eight months ago.

For now, to see if the next post I talked a little jobs I've done for a doctoral course and I found it very interesting .. not so much because my research is no big deal, but because this world of trying, I find it fascinating. Is the topic? The arrival of the English Peru in 1532, when they conquered (and destroyed, the very cazurros) the Inca empire, known as Tahuantinsuyo, during the "reign" of Atahualpa, the Inca twelfth. LAST ONE!

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Today I woke up with dreams collected under the eyes, still savoring the last strokes of the story that wanted to project my imagination, like a movie, sleep. Waiting the coffee is still the same, and I returned to the living world, I am back to the computer at this stage of my life has become my faithful lover and inseparable. Every day I spend hours stroking with fingertips, gently crossing their keys to create sentences full of philosophy, analysis, Literature. The work I absorb all the free time, but I try to enjoy hours of lucidity, as the unsuccessful. In all, I look between the margins of what I write, and between lines, with each reflection, I think I glimpse at each step a ray of truth about myself. I do not write for the satisfaction of faculty teachers, writing in Ultimately, to me, from me to me. Then comes, each phrase that my nimble fingers are forming on the screen, the moment of confrontation ... and it is not a written work that appears before my eyes: the computer screen becomes filled with letters mirror.

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I said!