Tay Du Ki 2 Watch Online

without warning I began
a bad heart;
was not in a specific place
What struck me that pain.

forces I missed
legs were clumsy,
eyes
cowered on the floor and I went at once.
More
anything I know.
When I did open my eyes
After overcoming fear,
I was wrapped in red cloth,

Reds in my own blood,
with cables and tubes and liquid ammonia rare

Leaving everywhere.

I figured he was alive

When severe pain was the most cruel of witnesses
the groove heart.

I cried silently in my bed
no forces to call a pious soul
A
I could help.

Soon a nurse came,
That looked at me, without looking at
And he asked me
vein to inject.

I asked for my life,
In my state, and my health,
And she icily,
Without losing his great stillness,
She said she was lost,
That after a month of agony would
Insurance dead.

"Dead, I asked

Terrified to the bone" Tell me, woman, why
think I'm dying? "
The nurse replied,
no longer see the serum:
" You have broken the heart
Gone are the dreams you, you are not perfect
Nor
a longing,
Your soul is in abyssal
corners without hope.
Nobody wants you in life,
No one will cry for you, No one would care

What you can suffer.
You passed through this world,
inadvertently not want you, You were like a bum

Losing a lifetime.
spend all your childhood,
Your youth is gone, And your cruel

arrogance never learned to love. Now you have

forces not even to walk,

Your scars stale soon have to kill you.
You are a despicable, selfish
Solitaire, And discover the latest

who waste their lives.
Now, under these candles, dark
In this hospital,
pleads with a nurse
That you predict the future.
With pleasure, I tell you
Well I'm still your sister already decreed
your executioner
Do not have more morning! "

Without another word
The nurse left the hope
Stealin
And the heartbeat .


returned all the sorrows and pains of old, bitter tears
What
In these deep old troubles!

tachycardia, fever, cough, sweating and tremors
,
And more Amid
terrible burning of the lungs.

I would die. And he would not accept my cruel fate
,

Because I understood that he died alone and without care.

No last farewell
Without saying goodbye to anyone;
I depart this life
Without knowing who God was.

God. If only he could
Play Perhaps my praise
light
give me my hope to grasp.

So without further delay
I kneel on the floor,
With the humility of love,
And the look in the sky,

infinitely sad
The poorest of the poor, I began my brief
Raising
pray my sorrows:

"Lord, you forgive
Al ungrateful fools today, the sinner
abusive, tyrant
And what you need, right
So this deer
who discovered in his death and That

for wasting their fate has always been dead.
I was wrong, cruel, selfish,
I walked away from my brothers,
I saw your light Shining
infinite in our hands.
forgive me and give me a
Last Chance,
That is sad to leave the land
Not knowing what love is.
Send me one of your angels
To guide my life, recover my steps That

And my reasons lost. Have mercy on this body

That begs dying, I'm sorry That
,
I want a new life. Hold me

mercy and know that if I missed yesterday,
In the light of your glory
I do not happen again.
knees I beg you,
As there is no greater sorrow That

leave this world without knowing what love is.
knees I beg you:
Save me, my good Lord! "

And, like a miracle
The bedroom door opened,
Letting
That an angel at that moment
stole my heart.

"I'ma nurse," I said,
added, without suspicion:
"I'll help you as a son
A you get better."
And I, looking at the sky, knowing that

beautiful angel went out to my prayer,
thought: "Thank you, Lord."

"You hope alive"
I whispered to the girl,
"
dying minutes ago And now, for the first time
I no longer feel the agony
That gave me so many pains And I stole
life.
All thanks to your charm,
In your smile, your eyes,
In that calm crying
ignite cravings.
Oh woman! How can
That one minute you want?
Angel of God, I call your name, your name is Mariela
While. "

And my luck, since
for me is that God wanted:
did not die, but I feel
That I'm in paradise.

What Color Walls Go With Travertine

Shadow Labyrinth Luz Caraballo

flux was dressed in black, very graceful, shoes and hat the same color. His steps led him through a plain dry, very dry and hot, which only had a house in the broad horizon. The man could not remember how he got there, I was puzzled. A deep thirst attacked him mercilessly. His chapped lips and tongue stuck to the palate, because the stated principles of dehydration. In addition, a blind stitch, breathing on the right side, below the ribs, prevented her from walking naturally. What place would that be? Who was he? Why would there? I did not know, the physical discomfort was not allowed to concentrate to remember their own identity. were so thirst and confusion, the man ventured closer to the only house in the area. Needed, urgently, water and information: thirst and disorientation became intolerable. A slow pace, holding their place in the ribs that hid the annoying sting began to cut the distance that separated him from the house. As he approached, he noticed that the front was very old, with peeling paint, keeping the unique aspect of the abandoned houses. It was very large, although only one plant, preserved, despite the obvious neglect reflected on the outside air hints of greatness that had a glorious past. On the façade, white and gray, were crammed two large windows, without glass, partially closed by two cross-tables. The door was solid wood with a rusty knocker in the middle. The hit man, gently, three times, but nobody answered. Concerned, knocked three times, now with greater force. This time the door swung on its hinges, making a squeaking sound when opened. There was nobody on the other side.

When the door was ajar, the man stuck his head through the crack. In the room there were several things old, scattered indiscriminately. The mystery was locked in that dark and terrifying atmosphere caused a shiver ran down her spine. In the middle of the room was an antique table, wooden, carved with snakes coiled along each leg, which lay their heads on the horizontal surface. Supported by her was a group portrait, also carved by hand, which showed pictures very old black and white, with strange images appeared Product chance. The man stopped to watch some, hoping to shed light on their plight, but the pictures say nothing. Seemed to have illation: a hand bleeding from a deep wound, an old, sitting leaning on a shovel, a beautiful young man saying goodbye, the window of a bus, a crying boy, a snake with its back arched and made fangs, another young man, marking numbers on a telephone booth, a child sleeping in a bed with a man kneeling beside him, and many more, all confused, as one that caught his attention more than the rest: it was dark no definite shape, but with a wicked heart que le hizo estremecer. Más allá, en una esquina de la mesa, había otro portarretrato que estaba oculto por un pañuelo manchado, que no se atrevió a descubrir. Junto a esta fotografía, estaba un cenicero de barro cocido, desbordado en colillas de cigarrillos, que le inclinó a pensar que la casa estaba habitada. En un rincón de la sala, al lado de dos grandes muebles que también permanecían cubiertos por sabanas mohosas, estaba una silla de ruedas. Por su aspecto, el hombre pensó que debía ser muy antigua: sus ruedas lucían oxidadas y destartalas, y la tapicería del asiento estaba en piltrafas. Otros tres portarretratos yacían sobre la silla. Uno mostraba la fotografía de una niña, que held to a very fat cat in his arms, another larger than the first, set out a ballroom full of people, with an elegant young woman located in the focal point, placid smile, holding aloft a glass of champagne . In the third picture, she saw a man in military dress uniform, upright and proud, women embraced the second portrait, and among them, hugging them both, the girl from the first. "A happy family," he thought, seeing the photographs and asked what time would be. Suddenly, a noise that arose at the bottom of the long corridor he was leaving the room, they did jump. Turned the moment he opened his eyes to the fullest, but saw no one. Stitch in the side again to bother, it was dry as a pain attacked by successive waves.

was set in the hallway. Had a closed group on each side, except the last on the right flank. "I'll pass, he thought, maybe find someone to help me ...". The sound that had scared seconds back came from the room was not locked. It was a vague rumor, indefinable, that grew in intensity as it approached the room. When you reach the threshold he paused, wary, with a human voice coming from inside. Era a feminine, soft, warm, who spoke in broken sentences: "Today I keep a surprise, my love ... I'll make you very happy ...".

When he looked out and saw a furnished room in luxury, full of carved furniture, with a large oval mirror wall decorated with vases overflowing with red roses, yellow, white ... in the center was a double bed, covered by a purple quilt on it, lay quiet a very beautiful woman. It was the same ballroom of the picture. As yet I had not noticed the presence of the intruder, still humming tunes choppy phrases and subtle, the time spent, over and over again, a comb through his hair. She wore a white gown silk, cotton and wore slippers. Her face without makeup, hair, pitch-black, smooth and very long, fell to her waist. Her skin was white, soft, fresh, bright red protruding from his lips and black eyes tempting deep. The man was watching her, without saying a word, half because I was nervous, half because I was entranced by her beauty unparalleled. But in the end, thirst and the maze of cluttered thoughts forced him to play very softly the door to catch the attention of women. She, without expressing surprise, stared at him, and said, "Who are you? How did you come? "He cleared his throat before to clarify the sticky mud from his throat, he replied: "Do not worry, ma'am. I will not do anything wrong. I'm lost and I have very thirsty ... I do not know how I came to this place ... this is the only house around here, the door was open and, as you play and no one answered, I decided to go. I regret having done so, but I need help ...".

When he felt the sincere desperation of her words, her expression softened beautiful woman. "And how can I help, sir?" He said, returning to spend the comb through her hair. "First of all, I need to drink water. I think I'm ill, I suffer a dreadful thirst that let me not think of anything ... such is my desperation, which would have taken myself when I was in the room but saw no bathroom or kitchen. Could you ...?". "Yes. Yes I can, "she answered. But first tell me your name, and where is. " "I do not remember, ma'am," he said, as I said, I do not know where I am or who I am ... something must have happened ... strange. I thought he might have suffered an accident, or having beaten over the head, but I have no wound on my body ... it only hurts here in the side, as I've been given with a bat. Can you tell me Where am I? ". "You, dark and unknown visitor in the middle of nowhere. My name, because I do not remember, is Amanda, and I do not think the fourth in a decent lady is the most appropriate place to be making visits. I think a total lack of respect go to the private rooms of a house in which they entered without invitation. So, please, leave the room again, and wait there, sitting, I will carry water. My husband is coming at any time, and if found here in our room, to kill, without asking anything ...". "I have a lot of heat," said he. I feel like if I died ...". "But if not room is gone, "replied she, eventually dying in serious ... please do as I say, wait for me there. Since the water will take calls, then you can ask anything you like ... I think you know the way. " The man nodded with a slight movement, uttered a hoarse "thank you" and began to retrace the passage that had led him to that room. The anxiety was calmed down with the brief chat he had with women. Soon it would be nice, would give water, information, and maybe let him sleep there for a while ... had ten rooms in the hall, including women, five from each side. When he arrived the room was stunned, to see they had removed the stale sheets covering the furniture and that wheelchair sat a very old man, long beard and yellow, holding the portrait of the girl with the cat . On the other hand, clutched in his arthritic fingers a half-consumed cigarette, which carried a heavy blue smoke atmosphere. The old man looked at the picture with an infinite longing, sighing, head tilted, mouth open. Did not notice the presence of the man who, seeing him, had taken off his hat, and held it against the chest in a gesture of unease.

A sixth sense prompted prompted him to look at the central table where was the most pictures. All still there, illuminated by the faint sunlight that filtered through the holes left by the windows crisscrossed logs, which solidified on contact with the mixture of dust and smoke from the air enclosed and withered. The last portrait, which previously was covered by a handkerchief tanning, was now uncovered. The image was so disjointed behaved like the rest: it showed an old alcoholic, dirty and crazy, who watched his reflection in the dark glasses worn by a parked car.

The man shuddered to see the alcoholic homeless face of photography. It was a raw image, spontaneous, captured in an instant that all the tragedy disguised by poor reality. After a few seconds, he looked the old man's wheelchair, who was still lost, holding the picture of her daughter in one hand and a cigarette butt in the other. A man stepped up to the old man, without deciding to take it out of his deep meditation, and placed immediately on your back, expecting a burst of courage to show up. It did not. The old man turned to violence, and fixed his blue eyes with cataracts in man's black suit. "Did you explain," said the old man with a hoarse voice and vibrant, "why that sprung cancer of my body had to kill her? ... It was his daughter, by God! Nothing had made the poor girl! He killed her because she is a scum of hell! That's what it is! A being abominable, a pervert, the worst mistake of God on earth ... if only I had been here to help ...". At these words, he went back to get distracted, looking at the photograph of the girl between nesting tears in his eyes. The man, very upset, not understanding anything of what happened, told the old man: "Sorry, sir, but do not know what you're talking ... I just met with Mrs. Amanda, she told me to wait here while went for a little water to me ... Are you his father? "The old man replied, merely to throw the guy a quick glance that conveyed all the pain he had in his heart of thorns. After that, he closed his eyes, picked up her head back in his wheelchair, and sighed: "Amanda! Poor Amanda

...!" How difficult situation to understand! The old man was disturbed, and survived prisoner of his delusions ... and wife, Amanda, who did not quite come up with much needed water his grieving throat, and the information that would help him out of that dark place forgotten God's hand. I could not wait any longer. The pain in his side had lashed out with new strength, and began to spread to the lower abdomen and spine. As expected, took a fresh look at the room: under the gloomy shadows, the objects seemed to take a hint changeable, a set of barely noticeable changes, but ended up renewing combined total environment every second. It was all so strange ... Also, the condition can not remember anything, not knowing who he was, what he did there, or how he reached that fateful place, he carried the heart of trouble. "Better, he thought, I look for Amanda to ask her to hurry, I want to clarify where before exiting to a road or a road that leads me to populated places, and just know I'm leaving here forever, this site gives me vertigo ... poor old man, is in the final! ... I think I know more about what is going on, still remembering nothing, that he, as is drowned in its dark world ...".

The man turned to walk the long hallway that led to Amanda's room. The door was still ajar, but this time, there was no sound inside. Failed to prevent the curious to peek through the crack, but regretted from the moment he did. Inside the room was empty, without the woman, nor any of the items were there. The bed, the comfortable, the large mirror, the decorations, everything was gone. Walls, who minutes earlier looked white and clean, were now rusty, peeling, macules covering its entire surface. Standing before the bathroom window, surveying the surroundings, was a middle aged man, dressed in military uniform campaign. Sensing the presence of the newcomer, while looking outward, said: "I guess it comes to denouncing the new trick of the child ... do not bother, mate, I and know ... believe me I've done everything within my power to raise her well, but she brought the same indomitable character of the mother ... refuses to listen to me, each is scolded for her, a new opportunity to challenge my authority ... but this is the last time I do, I swear ... the will to repent for each of their taunts against me ...". That was too much for the man in black. The heart began to beat with an impossible speed, and strength of his legs bowed. He had to hold the door frame to not go headlong into the ground. The military did not add anything more, to finish his sentence, he continued peeping the periphery of the house. "I have out of here, "said the man, just started aclarársele vision.

Trembling with vague steps, the man moved across the hall, leaning on the side walls. Upon reaching the room, he found that there had also spent the same as in the room: there was nothing. The table, furniture, old, pictures, even the smallest object had vanished. In one corner, squatting, was a girl who is eight years. She was very beautiful. A long straight golden hair framed her face, white and tender, his eyes, a blue sky, looked at the floor, with a blankness of a sleepwalker. She wore hidden arms behind his back. When he noticed that the black man approached him, he became very nervous and started shaking. What could I do that little in a place so terrifying? Maybe he was lost, as he ... so without thinking twice, he decided to help her and get her out.

"Poor girl, she thought, is so afraid ... try to calm her. " He walked very slowly to the corner where lay the girl. Cleared his throat, wiped the sweat that fell in spurts over his forehead, and a tone hoarse, whispered: "What are you doing, baby? Are you lost? " The girl, still shaking, keeping the arms hidden behind his back, shook her short. "Are not you lost? He said "So you live here?" The girl shook her. "Do you live near here?" I asked him, and she responded with a third denial. It was then discovered he was carrying the same small cat in the picture. Fear flooded into the blood. "Are daughter Amanda," he asked. The girl said this time, fixing his piercing blue eyes on the man. The sting in the abdomen returned to harass, with greater intensity previously, forcing him to kneel. The girl, with a faint trickle of voice, asked, "Are you sick?" "Yes, dear child," he muttered. Feels like I'm dying ... Can you tell me where I am? "" Here, "she replied; me ...". "Yes, beautiful," said he, "that I know ... but I have no idea where it is here ... Do you know? "On hearing that the girl smiled, and said," Do not play ... you know better than me ...". The man, intrigued by the enigmatic responses received, he asked: "Do you know me, babe?" She opened her eyes to maximum tilt his head slightly and asked in turn: "You really do not know me?" "No, my love ... can not remember anything ... I do not know who I am or where I am, not who you ...". In saying this, the man managed to rise again, in a truce that gave the twinge in his side. She moved a little closer to the girl to see it better in the dim light of the room, and neatly detailed his face in a desperate quest to find a loose end that will help you understand the strange underworld where he had ventured. The girl, seeing that man approached, more guarded arms behind his back. "Do not worry, little girl," he whispered, do not be afraid of me, I'm not going to do anything. " "That's not true," said the girl ... I always get hurt ...". "Me? "Said the man How I could hurt you, my love, if you just know? Insurance confuse me with another ...". "You," she said, you do not want me ...!". "Listen, girl," he said after clearing his throat several times to clear his throat: never seen you in my life ... I do not know who you are and, frankly, I do not want to know. I'm really scared with all this ... I think it's best I leave. This place is grim ...". "No! "I begged the girl not go yet! I have a secret that will make me remember ...". "What secret?" I asked him, "Will you have hidden behind your back?" "Yes," she said. But I can not show ...". "Why do not you?" He asked. "Because I have it banned," she said. "Who forbids you? "I asked him," Here we are alone, girl, just you and me, in this house of horror ...". "You forbade myself," she said. "Me? He asked, surprised "If this is the first time I see you, my love ... good, total, and none of this makes sense ... to see: I give permission to show me your little secret, maybe you're right, and help me remember something ...". At that moment, she pulled her arms into the light, and showed the man. A putrid odor saturated, in a second, the room air. The girl's arms, in the past and pure white as fresh snow, they were completely eaten away by gangrene, in some points to excel bone on the infected meat, wormy and pustules surrounded by dozens of rotten greenish substance seeping. At the sight loss, the man felt an uncontrollable wave of gastric juices huddled in his throat. The girl, seeing as the man arched over and over again, unable to vomit, his face made by an act of terror, he said, "Why are you such disgust, Dad, if I did it yourself? In addition, almost does not hurt, look, until I can get myself worms ...". The man, still unable to control nausea, looked at the girl with an eternal anguish and nearly lose consciousness when discovered that she was smiling as he watched his arms broken. "Do not let your disgust, saying" Dad, "he continued, that even gives me so much ...".

The road to the front door was made eternal. I could not coordinate their steps, the walls, floor, ceiling, whole house seemed to be vibrating on its foundations. Fell twice on the way, and once more at the door. Concentrating all the energy he had left, managed to stand, and tried to open the heavy wooden door. It took little time to notice that it had no lock, knob and hinges, as if embedded in the wall. A male voice yelled behind her: "There is no door, you idiot, nor is there home! He eventually completed all ...".

Without hesitation, the man looked back at the place where the voice. There was nobody, not even the child was in the corner. He looked toward the door, which remained closed, and extended his hand toward her. Stunned, watched as his fingers crossed effortlessly. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and crossed a long pass. Upon discovery of the place free of unspeakable horror and fatigue, he ran as he could without looking back, up to a crowded sector. He was surprised when they appeared, of nowhere, lots of buildings, streets, cars and pedestrians, in what was a minute ago and endless dry plain. A car passed him, very slowly, and the man could not accept his own image helpless in rear glass reflection: it was the effigy was found in the latest portrait.

Are Fkd Bearings Good

Luz, Luz Caraballo, how good life was then!

In the wilderness, always has enjoyed the cold and silence. It was well before you were born, and remained so after your death. Even when men perish from the earth, long after life into silence, silence and the cold will remain the masters of the wilderness.

In December, the mountains are decorated with flowers frailejones wearing their yellow light, but that you no longer important fact since you lost your illusions of life. As a child, everything was color and joy: the dogs played happily, jumping between the shores of the erratic streams, friends brought their mules to graze the green pastures of the lake, tourists have not ruined with the freshness of contamination valleys, and the fireplace of your rammed earth house still smelling the smoke coming out of that green, wet wood that your father picked up every afternoon. Life was simple then: games, time, peace, silence ... the singing of the birds and the trout in the river, the natural charm of the surrounding your life simple and quiet, secluded and happy.

But you were growing up, like all children of the earth, your fifteenth birthday and met a local guide who took you by force on the back of his horse, a little cabin in ruins you could never forget. Torrential rain outside, but inside that cabin throughout the frigid cold and silent night wasteland, broke and again in the fiery passion hugs exchanged overnight. He was the man in your life, you were glad your fantasies as a child, the more tender that accompanies your childhood dreams. He was the prince of those stories nobody ever told you, but deep inside your imagination intuited all along. He was the savior of your loneliness, the Almighty would take you by the hand from a soft, happy childhood, until the intense heat of passion maturity.

Without telling your parents, you went to the man who, with an old backpack on his shoulders, emerged from the shadows, and I promised all those things they knew nothing, of which you've never heard but still craved and put you to shake. You went on a Tuesday night on his horse, clutching at his back as if he were the very Atlas and I held onto a universe of fear of the unknown, closing his eyes because they no longer need them most, as he would for you and for you. Not sorry to leave your parents, who were so tired of his hard life that may never be noticed by your absence, which may come to doubt, given the silence of your game, if you were a real girl or just the result of a mute those dreams are not remembered upon waking. You went in silence, without saying goodbye to friends you never had, or the rag doll that I sewed your mom, and now wait for ever under a wooden bed that would never be yours. You left your nest, Light, proud and vital, you opened your wings to fly away, and it was then, clinging with all your strength to the back of your executioner and Titan, when you felt for the first time in your heart pounding chest .

The chimeras were maintained beyond the patience and love. Reached the time to have five children, each with pin hope in the chest, and a star of love on his forehead. Were five children, Luz, results of five nights of passion, which you give what little you had left, and he received in exchange for keeping on your side for another day. But when the last born, this tiny man who barely listened mourn, on the same day, even though you died alone and almost bled to death in the rural outpatient bys, although your other children were just babies could walk, your man of dreams I left. He left for good, without last words, without having the courage to say a "goodbye" to pity, looking into your eyes. It was like he came on his black horse, with the same old knapsack on his shoulder, and trotted into the shadows, without taking anything, despite how much you took.

However, you set out to fight, despite being in mourning. Your children did not have anyone else, so I forced to be strong and carry them out by all means. A day laborer was working, other will sleeping with the owner of a nice farm in exchange for food or medicine for them, the next day cleaning floors in a restaurant in town, or simply you were asking for some alms to the travelers who stopped in Mucuchíes to eat cakes of wheat or enjoy the whispers of the moor. At night, your children checked to verify that were good, they were full, and after feeding in any way with what you could and try to cure their wounds with your hands, your kisses and your love, you were sleeping exhausted, dreaming of Prince Charming coming to save you from a deep tunnel of misery where you went without realizing it.

In return for favors and jobs, did you raise some sheep, eternal companions, whose milk feed your children, and whose wool coats. Every day dragged them out to graze on the farms of the rich, and nobody had ever so hard-hearted as to throw you with stones of your land, or you, poor woman, or your friends sheep.

Time passed, and either fever, vomiting, shock, or the evil moor, took two of your sons, the youngest children and fragile. It died quietly, without complaint, like his father was gone from your life. The other two, tired of poverty and eager to know the world that lay beyond the mountains, joined one of the federal guerrillas passing through the fields with which innocent recruiting to fill the front rows of the battalions for fighting, and never to hear back from them. Your daughter, perhaps both see men entering and leaving your room at the ranch, ended up losing respect for the love and dignity, and sold his body for a few miserable dollars with which to shovel their ancestral hunger.

So, now old, finished staying single, Light, accompanied only by your carneritos cotton. But eventually led to them also, and your farm land and palm, and even your deepest hopes and dreams. In the end, I was nothing, Luz Caraballo, save your legs, and the sad possibility of counting the days until the arrival of your death. And then when you started with the eternal journey, from Chachopo to bys, and from Apartaderos to Chachopo, not for themselves nothing, neither here nor there, because nobody expected anywhere, but running away with your own thoughts and those ghosts past that did not fully shut. By day, under sunlight, we have formed with frailejones, distant rocks and cliffs, and at night, and did not see where you even set foot, I had no choice not to tell the little star in the sky. And that's how I met the farmers who did not know your origin and your destination, Luz, who eventually baptized the mad, mad wandering, and your name and behavior became myth that grew from word of mouth, from man to man , up to the genius of a poet who managed to turn your misery into immortality.

Luz Caraballo's crazy. Andrés E.
White.

"The fingers of your hands,
the toes of your feet,
one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten ...
In Chachopo to walk bys
Luz Caraballo, May
with violets,
With carneritos January;
glaciers Winters, Farallon
your summers, cold Andean With
,
between jumps and bustle, you will be putting
ugly
The fingers of your hands ... The summit will
limited
The single breath
What name you
That is the man who knows where you live ...
Five years since you wrote, Ten years
not you see;
bumps and stumbling And among your sheep

Chasing You are getting ugly
The fingers of your feet ... Hunger leads
in their horns Cotton
your sheep ... Your account hats
illusion accounts
While you guys:
One female and four males.
Rise, fall and jump;
And when asked for your hard

Frailejón to forget you are dealt Anxiety
One, two, three, four, five ...
Your daughter is in a harem, you
Two children died
The other two were
you behind a man on horseback ...
La Luz Caraballo crazy!
judge's decree says
because I once found
no children and no sheep,
contandito the stars,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten ... "

Dog Yoghurt Acid Reflux

Bee, you'll fly , Looking
flowers outside,
Spent today by my side
without paying attention to my sentences.

Bee, live flying
without stopping or getting tired, Raisins
swift, working,
Riding a life apart
-bustle, bustling about, "Del
you want to contemplate .
Bee, litter and fly
No matter rain or shine, always working quietly

Or humming your song. Paras
in blue flowers, Flores
red, yellow, honey Steal
birch pollen
Y margaritas,
Well you better like the rose That
an orchid or carnation,
all look so tasty,
all have so much honey, pollen
Both yellow petals
So many smells,
Both green fans,
much life, many flowers, many beautiful distraction


In your universe golden raisins That fast, to me,
Giving this to my dream.

Bee, always flying in thy womb Taking
nectar,
at home are waiting for your brothers hive


to drink mead which distil your veins.

Bee, there you go flying spring
Looking
And you take my soul away
Together with you into the jungles,
And like good travelers
round also steppes, forests

low trees and endless prairies
Bee, along with your flight
goes my eternal admiration.

Bee, you're going fast ... As I watched your flight

And I reveled in your charm
I realized that the distance
A face was looking
My sad walk across the floor. Bee
am, but I cried!

Thai Green Curry Watery

The Rose Bee

In my early days I had a garden,
a humble birth in the spring,
My greatest faith, without beginning or end;
My Shadow and my sun, my dream first.

Downtown, next to the old fountain,
my rose It stood proud chimeric
Next to a dog
terrible teeth And the larger handle of the whole America.
A special pink ... red, red, very red, redder
the soul of every sorrow,
a heart of blood on a leaf,
that love to a life that is just beginning.

was all the joy that rose
That longed for me. I just wanted ...
That rose was all my comfort,
Having it in my hands, my soul, in my poems ...

My soft illusion.

Every morning at sunrise
My life drunk

With her beauty and her sweet smell. I handed him

As there were no such largest in the world
That put my kisses her purity,
There was noble and profound pleasure to touch its petals
gently
Just to hear her laugh sublime
Among those flowers, including that breeze,
Watering colors throughout the garden.

was very happy. It had everything,
The sweetest smell that permeates the dawn
Ineffable brilliance outshone the gold,
An immense treasure within my soul,
The tenderness, the sense of its dance honey,
Flight of the Swan, the light of a diamond,
His gentle way of being my hope ,
feel the glory that was his lover.

But everything ends.
came the winter, summer,
not know what happened, terrible rains damaged
coves, wrinkled
winds all orchids, birds
lost his gay wings,
choking dust butterflies,
A caterpillar trampled each bell,
fruit rot fungi tasty
The sun faded each little flower,
is over the freshness of the beautiful fountain;
From the bowels of mother earth
sprouted thorns, and bones, and stones,
And among so many ruins, lonely and afraid, as it was Fragile
,
ended up dying my only rose,
My shadow and my sunshine, my dream first ...

Nostalgia forces me to keep looking out the window

That was my garden litter
Where cradled my great hope.
There are days like today,
silent tears I forced to leave behind the glass and water with tears
groove deleted,
and mourn for all that is lost.

Extrañar to pain my young pink
This patchwork of my spring,
Soft as it was, so sweet and beautiful,
My shadow and my sunshine, my dream first.

I lost forever. Just what I understand ... I know that ill fate
took away
That by the god of chance now I'm dying,
That my love is sad, that crushes me the memory, the Treasury
of my joys will no longer be
: left of me life
Taking with every tune,
The laughter of the world ... life itself ... Looking

sand in my hand
And silent tears watering the earth
remember my rose, I've loved,
My Shadow and my sun, my dream first ...

my big dream is what I'm crying, crying
is my memory of that nothing wait ...

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Farewell

That night she would go, but was still there with me, sitting beside me, looking with their big black eyes of the countless stars shining in the sky, as if trying to count them. I longed to enter into his thoughts, his words live, eat your dreams, but could not. His smile was alien, queen of a place without time, without space, far beyond the oaths that I meant beautiful night prevent the march.

The cool breeze coming from the sea caressing his curly hair and the moonlight poured over his body, his skin warm, over who wanted to kiss those lips so many times without knowing how to do . I stared at her, thinking it was perjury over time. How many minutes would follow me, smiled, guessing and now the successive waves with those eyes that seemed to penetrate the darkness?

My trembling hand slipped on the sand, slowly overcoming the eternal distance that separated from yours. I felt the touch of the tiny grains under my fingers, still warm from the heat of the day, and sensed the four grooves that was leaving my hand on the ground. When I played timidly, she turned and looked into my eyes, perhaps for the first time since I had sat by his side. From his expression I suspected that he also wanted to say something, but her lips parted just to smile again. What joy reigned in her face under those stars, under that moon, enveloped by the cool breeze! How dark eyes looked radiant! How much fear harbored my heart to words, to break the charm of that last night ours! It was the magical

spell of the undefinable. Still smiling, he looked toward the place where it should be the sea. I thought she was thinking: "Did you hear?" And wanted to say yes, you heard him sing for us, that we belonged soft rumor that on that night the world around us was just us, but my mouth is not opened. Perhaps I thought, without thinking, and maybe she heard it in my silence, because he got up and walked to the seashore, as if drunk to the end with that low murmur and endless. Feeling that he walked away, although they were more than a few meters, the heart shook in my chest, and all fear of the world I walked into the blood. The peace that filled me when I had finally achieved its faded when he saw her hand up, and every step he took toward the shore chest ached like a death, multiple death without redemption. There was no life possible away from the ineffable candor of his soul.

had to say something to keep left, but did not know why, or how to say, I could not even get out of the sand and go after her. Resigned, I sat in my place, feeling still with me, feeling already the sea, feeling even taking small steps that left indelible marks on the sand. The weather continued your way ... I thought I'd say very soft, barely a whisper at the ear, I love, and come after you, but I feared that their response was nothing more than a tender smile. I wanted to say: I love you, but I knew the breeze would rob me the words and strength. before pronouncing .. It meant so much! Damn coward heart ... in a world of lies, only managed to stifle my only truth ...

Without thinking I got up and followed the trail of footprints that would lead me to my soul. At the same sand were embodied the children frolicking on the first light, the friendly chat adults in the heat of the afternoon, the fervor of the kisses were lovers obscured by the blood of a single evening. And now, at night, silent printer that held the secret of the unique steps of my beloved, the rhythm of their dance in the search of the sea. I followed, but were necessary, because it was sufficient that were walking towards my dream to get to their origin. I knew she would still be there, a few seconds, staring at the same sea that became impossible desires. I admired him, he was fair, because they had to assert to exist, because the sea that now he wet his feet with the water was full of night life, destiny, time itself that continued to pass ...

I leaned towards her again, took her hand, And I took both my body to yours that our shoulders touched. I also stared at the sea, with an immense nostalgia, looking to the clamor of the waves end a secret that I reveal the mystery of his thoughts. Her eyes filled with tears, but I knew that crying was not for me but for the beauty of the moment. I also had wanted to mourn in silence beside him, clutching the hand that was my last hope, but I knew I should not ruin the moment with my selfishness tired and old. His feelings were beyond her and me were free flying swallows light among the stars, drinking briefly in some wells filled night, and then fleeing to get lost in the waves, sea, deep, very deep, touching universes unattainable for me and cowardly human heart.

I put my face to hers, closing his eyes and with my trembling lips brushed her cheek. I wanted to kiss her, but perhaps the pain does not leave me this last consolation. She, sensing my desperation, I gently stroked her hair, and looked at me with his maternal eyes, with that glow of someone who understands everything. I wanted to hug her with all my strength, and join it to melt with your body, so that the parting had not ever come. I had no time to do so. After caressing, she turned her body and stood before me and took her in his arms, and gave me all the warmth and peace that dwelt on his chest. My tears wet your skin, and little by little his heart was filled with a thousand prisms tiny rainbow turned into the dim moonlight. She also cried, but I know deep in their thoughts had wanted to tell me: "Do not cry ... All this is beautiful, and we are it. "

raised my face, I looked into his eyes with a pain he had ever suffered, and kissed her lips. She closed her eyes and responded to my kiss with warmth that is only possible in the first or the last time you kissed a being that we love so much. Then I kissed every inch of your skin, thirsty passion drinking with tears down her cheeks, those short drops that kept the Decree of sadness is the sea. At that time I had nothing to say, just wanted to stop time forever, until eternity, and stay beside her, holding her in my arms, kissing her a thousand times, telling him to kiss those phrases that words can express.

But time is brutal and swift it came time to say goodbye. My heart longed to see her again mad, the next second, the next hour, forever, that there was no time for goodbyes dumb, that soulmates do not have to be separated sickles for the bitter fate, but deep down I knew that could not be. She would leave, as he left each night, and they would walk slowly along the coast, leaving a trail of footprints that night tides erased before dawn ...

So away I saw that night, and only then realized that there would be no tomorrow. I wanted to call her and tell her he loved her, loved her more than one heart can bear, and run after her to catch up, following their footprints in the sand, following the trail of his love, in the wake of your smile gold, but could not, my words were drowned by the sound of the waves, the cry my tears.

not know where she is today ... but in any edge of space where you are in any remote corner of time where your essence shine free and happy, I know my love will always be beside her, and she'd look with his black eyes in the moonlight, and cuddled with her smile, and gently caress, and protect him in his arms, because they know how much I still love, and that perhaps she, too, from his world unattainable, still want a bit like me.

Ct Scan Stomach Ulcer

's flower garden. Sweet Companion

Within

clean my garden I planted a seed

beautiful

And open sunlight

I gave to drink so much

As the fruit of my dream,

Extract starlight,

As

true love

All my love was hers,


As my sweet words And my promise to be
beside her at every moment
protected from evil.

But time is passing ... And

rainy morning I saw tears and silent anguish
That hurt the lawn.

I was not, he was gone ...
The breeze had started,
What had loved
My hands were lost.

sticks in my memory ... And among desolate cries

still go out to my garden and I dedicate stiff
a song, sing


full of sadness which all the old memories, recalling his beauty

but feel so far away.

Community Service Letter From A Church

companion Dulce De nights and days,
In joy and sorrow,
Soul of my life.

Sweet mate,
fragrance of roses,
Starlight,
Voice of butterflies.

peace that fills me
To you I owe you, show me Your flowers

With my love of irrigation.

You are my song And you are my laughter,
You, with your charms
-your scent on the breeze cool my body

from all torment
Giving me happiness
Every moment pleasures
Turned Turned
joys Melting your sorrows

Along with mine,

Uniting in all our feelings, filling with gold

The sea and winds.

All I have,
My humble treasure
good you understand the evil
And I cry, I sing of spring

And steel my chest,
Hope austere
This love undone
For many sorrows,
My being, my reason
My joy and strength, my hearted

have to be forever until I die

the being I most want:
My faithful companion!

My Hands Are Swollen Cause Of The Snow

The reasons for the oligarchy

Although the evening was coming to an end the relentless heat continued without succumbing to the march of time, because their origin was beyond the powers of the sun was a heat sprang from the bowels each of the demonstrators who crowded around the main stage. It was a warmth, a common heat, a child born of a great brotherhood of strangers. Cheeks painted red, blood red, like the flags waving in the air, hands made by bold, revolutionary and idealistic. We all breathe the heat, regardless of class or race. I breathed with joy, because it was yours, was a common good, a strong bond invisible but palpable, that met, that kept them together even though they were separated, which obliged them to take their own individual value for the collective welfare.

A musical set stoked these arms from the stage. Ali Primera lyrics passed from mouth to mouth, starting on the vocals, augmented by the speakers, and ending in a small, located in the rear of a large group of people, that hummed through ignorance of letters. Then, amidst great applause, took over care of all a venerable old man who touched their hearts to recite, with the accent humble and clear of the good men of this village, a beautiful poem of social character of the poet Andrew E. White. And the irrepressible tears from some, who tried in vain to hide with a soft brush of the forearm when the final lines fell like needles in the soul, evaporated to enter contact with infinite heat, and integrated with the endless applause lavished the good orator.

Cold and serene was the face of the man who watched the crowd from the window of a building. His eyes, more human-eagle, moved slowly in their sockets, watching them all, from one to another, without stopping to none. At his side, resting on the floor, was a medium-sized brown bag, the contents soon attracted interest. He took his hands and opened it. In each of the halves, locked by leather straps, they were the parts of a building block rifle. As a ritual, with precise movements and quiet, he began separate each packing: barrel, scope, silencer ...

The mood of the group of people came to a head. The main speaker, a young revolutionary named Alberto Alvarado, just sit in front of the microphone from the podium, ready to proclaim his rousing speech. Received poor applause and smiling, clapping too, saying: "My most sincere respect and love to you all ..." Whenever

released a piece, the rest with integrated controller movements, forming a charged object a deadly form in his hands, aligning a puzzle of steel, wood, lens and screws, gunpowder and death. Now his gaze alternated between the mechanical work of his fingers long and dry and popular singing group in his innocence. When Albert went on stage, a slight shudder ice furrowed his face. Focused the eyes of birds of prey in their target. It would be an easy target. The path that the projectile would be free of obstacles. In his hands hung the rifle and fully armed. Just missing the rear sight graduated: 500 meters ...

"What an honor to be able to address these words!" Said Alberto Alvarado to the crowd, "Well, I have some things crossed on the chest, not to share with you, they will end up killing me ...". "Long live Albert, long live!" Shouted the people, sharing some of its heat red and black with the young revolutionary. "They say," continued Albert, "that our struggle is not going anywhere ... Who, having a healthy view, may believe that the struggle of this people, tired of being humiliated and excluded, giant, when necessity requires, warlike, because we have in our veins the blood of freedom, tell me who, not is completely crazy, you may think that our struggle to seek social equality is a futile effort? ". "No! They shouted in unison. "" But I I say, "continued Albert," which are quite those of us despise. Despise us because we are poor, because we are mestizos, because we have not had the opportunity to learn more than to survive ... is enough, gentlemen, because they have multiplied, and multiplied because they eat the handful of food is lacking in our tables because they have wrapped their children with cute pink blanket was taken from us because they have learned a thousand things in the books that allow us to read ... and so, because they got used to seeing ourselves as the stray dog \u200b\u200bwho is humble and tail that moves them, because they believe that poverty is synonymous with ignorance and stupidity, because we see them as pets do what the masters are prescribed, do not believe our social revolution arrives anywhere. They will not believe it, hear it well, because deep down they fear us, and prefer to suppose them stupid and disabled before they face ... afraid that we organize ourselves, afraid that one day discover the true power that hold our hands of farmers and workers, you have fear that one day will reclaim what the eyes of God belongs to us: a dignified and just world where we have a good life for ourselves and our children ... "

From the window the sniper performed the last adjustments to his rifle. He was a professional, and his motto was to never use more than one ammo for each job. Fit the butt of the gun to his shoulder, gently placed the index finger on the trigger guard and closed his left eye while the right closer to the scope. The distant world is so close to his eagle eye, which could see a drop of sweat that furrowed the face of Alberto. Moved the index finger, serene and accurate, the trigger guard the trigger ...

"... Recently I heard a heartbreaking news, my brethren, "continued Albert. It turns out that five hundred, five hundred richest men and women of the land must be in as much money as HALF THE WORLD POPULATION fewer benefits. What seems such a thing? What do you think that only five hundred men have equal resources to three billion human beings? At that, I wonder: Is it that justice and freedom advocated by the extreme right of our country? Is it that the way that everyone is equal? Is it this what they call an emancipated world of possibilities? Could it be that they are more human than any of us? But why continue saying things that you know, we all know, we discover every time we suffer hunger or exhaustion haunts us, or illness before time kills us? Why keep complaining about the premature aging and unjustified that we have to sacrifice in inhuman work we do for and to them, in exchange for some petty coins with which to survive another day? ... no, my friends, brothers of my soul ... not worth it to continue complaining, or turning over and over again on our own misery without doing anything out of it ... We can not waste any more time ... I beg that we'll dry the tears we cry green for all the suffering endured, and we decide to fight, without rest, to achieve a fairer, more rational, because Venezuela, the country poor wound will not be truly ours as food that the extreme right boot swallows sighted in their trash, "Because jorgito already filled", is better than our petty dinners at the holidays ... "Nothing else could

fighter Alberto Alvarado add to his speech. A bullet struck blind air and crashed into his skull. A few grams of lead discharged by a glacial finger, blinded, forever, the life of the young revolutionary. It was the shock of the reasons for the oligarchy gagged, powerful, inexorable any reply speech against the humble peasant, the worker, the peddler, the unemployed, the excluded majority of our people ...

The heat suffocated the crowd went extinct along with the life of Alberto ... in its wake was an endless thirst and large, a sadness of orphans, a piercing scream, a single pound tucked withered hearts of the crowd, which implored its nostalgia: "Justice ... Justice! ".

Meagan Good Short Haircut On The Game

A Gift for Santa

... "Well, no, this year I will not fall into the same game forever, because I'm tired, rather, tired, tired, annoyed and upset that my turn to do the same thing every year , bear such weights that I never have known, endure this fate was not mine but that of another, which was imposed on me without ever asking me if I was satisfied with the job from hell, with that destination cyclic repeating over and over again the same, always the same, beginning with an exhaustive study of the behavior of children, to see which ones can receive gifts and which not, according to their moral and adherence to the codes set in each region , for every religion, every sect, urbanization and house, to complicate things are the same all over the world, but that change from one side to another depending on the angle of incidence of sunlight on the bark land or the history accumulated after years of endless war, or stimuli predestined by genes and the stars on each name, heaven knows, and then, Rather than be a single code of ethics around the world, there are three mil five hundred forty-six million seven hundred eighty-eight microcode individual ethics, family, local, regional, national, and continental complicating coexistence, that spoil relations between countries, wars and promote further unbalance an already unbalanced humanity, and then I put myself at the crossroads of having to learn all the different codes of behavior, to judge like a kind of god obese children all the earth, to draw hasty conclusions about whether you were fairly good as your parents and your residence and your city and your country and your race and history that has been dragging behind you, or if you were bad very bad very bad, and then start to make rules of three to estimate that as you behaved a bit wrong and asked for a bicycle then applying penalty factors as the scale and arithmetic tables and you are lucky if you just touch a skateboard, or if you behaved very well and asked for a Nintendo the good Santa, then I'll give you viedeojuego with some original cartridges or copied which can kill some brain cells and learn violent behavior from remote locations to help you not be as good in the years to come, and after much suffering and so many gifts I have that feeling forever that I am doing wrong and I was very unfair to some children, because it's really hard to tell when someone is good and when not to, especially if we can not wash their hands then as Pilate, and then one plus one equals two, for two four children and billions of sending me stupid letters from hundreds of different languages \u200b\u200bthat do not understand why I have no time to sit down and study each local language or to imagine what they meant in the midst of this hodgepodge of typos and semantic and semiotic and seminal , where they ask and ask and ask for the impossible to carry in one bag, in a single sled, objects that most people do not deserve it or that I have no idea what it is that ask, if a round thing with peaks is dark but look through it, or something that is very soft but hard to turn, or a trinket very sweet but that makes you mourn for their acidity, they come every absurd to these children, and all the cards that I can understand, those who write in languages \u200b\u200bfamiliar and not so many mistakes, because most of the letters I get do not understand even the dear dear dear Santa Santa Santa, Santa an horn, what you want is a genius, a scholar who can speak all languages \u200b\u200bof the world, who knows all the codes of ethics and morality of each isolated region of the earth, a scholar who can interpret what their demented heads asking within nonsense forcing them to say so much sugar and television maldigerida, so many things that neither you yourselves know what they are, and also a genius, millionaire also want it to be a man of inexhaustible wealth, which has infinite resources with which to pay for nothing all those irrational desires that his letters asking me insane and unintelligible, as if I were a financial wizard and not the poor man that I am fat, high cholesterol, with triglycerides through the roof, with an incurable wound in his right leg because of diabetes, in spit of suffering a massive heart attack as a miserable living in the north pole because I had no money to buy land in any place civilized and less harsh than this sh ** snow where everything is white and cold, where even the stones that shit is ice and snow, and that to fulfill that destiny was not mine but I had other hiring dwarves who genuinely scared me, where I do not trust at all, all simply because it was the cheapest labor in the region, and do not know how to teach has cost me every detail on the modeling of plastic injected on the physicochemical properties of polypropylene, to manage metalworking furnaces, not to mention blood tears I've cried for him to understand a bit of advanced electronics dwarf those negligible, which at first threw it all away no matter the six months it took to get each package of goods imported into this pole mierdade can not go further because it would leave the maps, and before all this calamity touches me laugh ho ho jo, because everyone expects this fat drunk-faced good-natured laugh, ho ho ho, because of that contract was never signed and that spoiled me for life as long as the fat you can not cut itchy beard while you sweat and have to laugh all the time, ho ho ho, but not like the children of hell who stole his destination, ho ho ho, but really hates with all his might, ho ho ho, but being dying of rheumatism in the distance from pole, in this hell where night lasts for six months you can not sleep because the cold does not leave us, ho ho ho, accompanied by these dwarfs are sadistic side of sex maniacs, of libidinous satyrs and drug addicts, ho ho ho, who would want this fate willingly, fuck, who would want this living death, and then I have to keep up with technology upgrades, so that the toy dolls that make my satyrs and the wrong things they do every time I get distracted, can grow, and mourn, and shit, and all girls who want to make their dolls, toy cars and futuristic carajitos for each year have to run faster than the previous year, and climbing walls, and put lights and rockets everywhere, as if we knew that in two days, in just two days, that toy that cost us both design and construction work, will end up thrown in a sewer or torn by the dog, no joke, not to mention boats and ships of crap I have to import from China and other parts to assemble the toys, every time spoils of injection machines, every time you run out of plastic, dyes, carcinogens, lithium batteries, copper wires, sparking eyes and moved alone to face of the dolls, the memories of the game, the little engine that will soon pass over two days in damage, and each year up debts I do not know how to pay, because in this little job I dated I have to give winning toys never receiving anything in return for my altruism old fool, and then I have to juggle to convince suppliers to wait for another year, ho ho ho, persuade them with my big good-natured face to trust me, soon I will pay, all children of the earth are making donations to the good Santa and give continuity to his beloved Christmas, but no, everything is a lie, though say it with my best smile of sincerity, everything is false, because I'm only up to its neck in this ment, because nobody helps me even brought me a packet of flour to make arepas, or a box of chocolate to take on the toughest winters and I do not know what lies keep getting to the sinister dwarves every day they get more violent reinvokes requesting their salaries, and that if the compulsory social insurance, if the old age pension, if the housing loan, if the layoff, what horns, where I am going to take much money to pay if all I have is this ranch ice factory became hits peak force, and if I do not have anything or even to buy another dress more dignified and serious than the red dress that has more holes and patches pants beggar if I have not been able to buy a car or a plane, even with all that I want to drive a plane, and instead the only transportation I have is this sleigh apart from the pure obsolescence is, who has seen, going sledding yet, how if we were in the nineteenth century, carried by a reindeer jerks who do not see it have cataracts, which have no horns as they fell from old and many hours of flight, many templon give them to go faster, beast arre, arre beast!, because I always want to go Faster, faster, to deliver all the gifts they asked me miserable not deserve these children criminals to empty the bag smelly foot with sabayon to aged cheese, and go for one more year at that distance from where I built the ** Wed home and where day after day, I freeze the balls every time I sit down to shit on the toilet, because if I have to pay the suppliers and the dwarf, much less going to have to pay a decent heating or hot agüita the shower, sinks, dishwasher safe, and thus how I would not leave my wife if I spent all day talking about toys and children's good and bad, if I could not even give a gift on the anniversary because they were all committed to these unfortunate children who stole my soul, because he could not offer a room with heating, but this icy room with a bed of ice and ice the head, so why would not he leave, the final took off, not stand, is gone forever one morning when I was sitting at the table with my face and my big belly jojojo outside the trousers that I could never close the button, and stayed for more than two hours waiting for me to serve my fried eggs with ham, my plate of tripe, my soup of black beans, pies my meatloaf, accompanied of course with my pill for stress, and when I went to look into the kitchen to ask him what happened with my food, black, she was gone, was gone forever leaving a Notice of "hate this crap today, Claus, keep your dwarves and your childish world if it makes you happy, because what am I going to find a real man with a real job, I can be treated as I deserve, "and so did my black, without a kiss goodbye, without a last word, without saying if I was going to miss, and I left that note in his hand, standing in the middle of the kitchen without knowing what had happened and what I face now, damn, I lost my wife, and has been too hard to have to learn, as well as ethical codes, different world languages \u200b\u200band literature horrible children who are beginning to write, cook chicken, meat, fish, pork and all the crap that I like to eat donuts and cakes accompanied by chocolate, because although I tried to convince some of the dwarves to change the factory through the kitchen none would accept the exchange, saying that those were not things of men, and they were a male, fuck, small but gifted, and were not going to be cooking for any old boss was, so I had to sit on a computer, and start downloading the best recipes for cooking weather below 0 ° C, and then I had to learn to chew raw seal liver, fish that tastes stale, and eat testicles seal and seal eyes, and intestines of seals, and I can not stand the smell of rotten seal every time I go to the bathroom, all because of the toys, all because of the children, all because of the dwarves and suppliers, because all of them because my wife left me, I do not know how he always got food but tasty, and I served it on the table every time I told Villlllmaaaa, where's my brontosaurus ribs, and of all things, above all this and much seal liver and white beard and many reindeer jojojo both old and so much debt and loneliness I do not even have the consolation of having given gifts to all children in the world, for the poorest children can not write, because they live in places that do not have mail systems so I never get their cards, because even I am sure of where the hell is Zambia and Zimbabwe, I've never been there, because apparently my address book only goes up to the "Y", he vanished the "Z", and just stick with the gut itself, the end of the night December 24, I'm leaving some children out, to me is forgetting something, but as soon as it reaches the fault disappears, total, no one ever criticizes me, no one seems to care about the fate and the fate of the poorest children, and then cry beast arre, arre Rodolfo!, and twist the direction of my reindeer arthritis, back toward the pole, again towards the dwarves, to debt, to the toilet I freezes the balls, and the routine starts over the last two hundred years, that makes me wish you were dead, that makes me pray to give me pneumonia Free me from this yoke, which makes me ask with all my heart explode a burst boiler or any of the pipes that deliver the most harmful chemicals we use in the factory, to die, damn it, to get rid of the shadow of my wife chasing me around the corners of memory, not to see those damn midgets more than I steal the few decorations that I stay at home in exchange for salary payment never to shake off the Chinese suppliers that were not understood a damn what they say but as I feel that are already horny and tired of waiting for a payment that never arrives, so this year is over, this year there is no red suit and jolly old venerable face and jo jo jo, this year it goes all to hell I kick in the butt every one of the dwarves, I'll throw gasoline and setting the candle factory, I'll ax fall on the ice walls of my horrible house, and I'm going to fuck himself, where nobody knows where it might die in peace without fucking asking me are not deserve toys and gifts, which do not have to think of new creations to surprise some children have increasingly less of innocence over evil, to be away from all of you, your eyes, in your opinion easily and absurd, where you can sit quietly to watch a sunset, and feel that I'm going to another world along with the Sun

Starting this year, there will be no Santa, no more Christmas. What else is left with the office if you wish, because what I am, I'm going to Panama, to bathe in the Caribbean Sea, and walk to the depths, hoping to drown and have the opportunity to start again with another life, a life that is mine and not another, better life. "

How To Spray Paint Bmx Frames

The guaca

Today, being an old man, and so close to death as I am, I remember that search as one of guaca the best experiences I could live. Yes, of course, some images are confused over the years, and perhaps the imagination fills in the spaces that memory is treacherous leaving gaps, but still, all that flutters in my cluttered attic of experiences, that search is not guaca doubt my happiest memory.

all started the day I was ten years. No party, no year was because we were poor at home, my father had died before I was born and my mother, responsible for working tirelessly to get our food, never was with us. Of the eight children who were the greatest care for the child, and he who followed him, and so on down to me, that nobody cared to be the least of all. Nor

Laura remembered my birthday this time. "Today I am turning ten years old, Laura," he said, when that evening came to visit me as he did every night since I can remember. "Great!" She cried, honestly surprised. I was twelve, at home and suffered the same or worse situation than ours. So I always wanted to go out and walk together, and in our playgrounds and easy to escape the pain and fear of the real world. "Today we will go where ever, Javier", she said, her eyes ablaze in sparks of happiness. He could not hide his smile wide. "Where we go, Laura?" I asked, despite knowing that she would go to hell if I asked. He was my best friend, the only person in the world of receiving a little tenderness and understanding. "We will solve all our problems," she said and continued, "let's find a guaca that is in the forest." "A guaca? I asked. So what is it? "" Do not you know it's a guaca? How stupid and ignorant you are ... guaca is a treasure hidden in a lonely place, very old, usually filled with gold and valuables. It is known that there is a guaca when you see a ghost haunting a place. Usually, that fear has something to do with the treasure, and of course you want to retrieve or care for him from the beyond. So my mom told me once, when he began to see a shadow in the backyard of the neighbors. " "What about your neighbors find a treasure in your backyard?" I asked. "No," he said, "even though I looked, and opened holes all around, never found anything except a rusty pipe and thousands of sheets of soft drink." I had sincere interest in everything that Laura told me. She knew so much, and learned more of his stories that pesky classes of teachers in the school. "And have you seen a ghost in the woods, and you think there is a Guatemalan?". "Guaca, Javier, do not be an ass! And yes, I did see a ghost in the depths of the forest, once I was hiking alone. It was like a shadow, a silhouette, dragging the steps again and again turning around a large mango tree. I hid and got to see behind a mogotito, despite the fear I felt I was there to see what else was the ghost. But that was nothing more than circling the tree, groaning, and dragging the steps. " As Laura told me the story, I felt that my heart skipped a beat in my chest. "And you saw the eyes", was all I could think to ask. "Yes." She said. "And they had to fire. When I stared, I was really scared and ran as fast as I could without looking back, because I feared that the horror follow me to the house. But, while running, besides praying, together valued just thought would return to seek to protect this horror guaca. But I will not go alone. As you have a birthday, I want to share this treasure. What? Are we going? ".

As I said, I had gone to the end of the world if she had requested it. I felt a deep fear of suspect we were to enter into the depths of the forest, we did not know ways to confront a ghost to steal his guaca Penant, but just to be with Laura, so he could live with her a memorable adventure, I managed to overcome my fear and say yes. He was a shy yes, but in the end. She smiled and said how good, then follow me if you can, and ran full speed down the path that led into the forest. As the trail of his footsteps, I started running after her as fast as I could to avoid falling behind.

Within minutes we entered the forest. She took my hand, his hand was soft and warm as a caress, and led me down a different path than normally worn by people crossing the forest. When not seen nor heard anything except the birds singing and the high and dense tropical trees, she sat on a stone, and asked me to do the same. Pulled from his pocket a crumpled pack of cigarettes and some matches. "You?" He asked, stretching out a cigarette. "I've never smoked," she said, clutching a cigarette anyway, I offered. She smiled and told me there was always a first time, while lit his cigarette with a match. It made me laugh to see her with that big cigar in his mouth, puffing and coughing all over each puff. If she did, could not be so bad. I also lit my cigarette, and despite being one of the most horrible things he had ever done, because I made a bad cough, nausea and desire to mourn, I kept puffing short to smoking, for fear of being a coward in the eyes of Laura. She, her eyes watery and not quit either, could not stop laughing at me coughing like a consumptive. "Stop it, or you'll die from a spasm," he said, laughing on the grass.

After that, my sweet friend turned to grab my hand and we walked along a path that only existed in his imagination. We reached a point where there was no path or way possible, because it was closed by a group of very high tubular bushes. "Water mattresses," she said, and the act began to jump and throw against these bushes to make way. "From what mattresses speak!" I said when I saw on the floor, dying of laughter, ready to rise again and move against that wall of weeds. Unable to resist the charm of his smile, I also threw myself with all my strength against that impregnable wall, and to my surprise, not only was not painful at all, because the plants were soft and cushioned the blows, but well everything was very fun. Thus, little by little, by dint of jumps and romps, we were working our way up to what seemed another forest path.

This time we came to a trail just currency, which was on its way a stream of turbid water and stinking. A red flowers indicate where they were the banks of the swamp. Again and again, our feet sinking in the mud, and our wet clothes, mattresses part by water, partly by diseased mud and water from the stream, began to bother to walk. But still, we move forward. Nothing could stop us now in our quest for guaca. Laura

again took my hand and was pulling my arm to go to one side or another, according to the stimuli of his imagination. "It's here," he said, and ran in that direction, "Now, is this other side" and so we, like a ship at sea, we changed from north to south and from east to west, while sailed por las cálidas corrientes de aquel bosque encantado.

De pronto, ella se detuvo, y me pidió que me sentara ahí. “Vamos a ver las nubes, ahora que podemos ver el cielo entre los árboles”. A ella siempre le gustaba encontrarle formas a las nubes. Yo no encontraba fuerzas en mi corazón para preguntarle si recordaba por dónde era el camino, o si estábamos perdidos. Entregado a su voluntad, me tendí boca arriba en el piso, y comencé a ver las nubes que flotaban a lo lejos. “Aquella parece un perro flaco que corre”, decía ella, tumbada en la grama a mi lado, más libre y más feliz que nunca. “Esa otra, parece un dragón que echa a volar”. Y continuó, pointing with her little finger: And that it's there, like a man shouting, pleading to God as who knows what else. " As I had the gift of his fertile imagination could not see anything telling me, but I was happy to say yes, and she felt she shared with those secret things that only their eyes could see.

When we get bored watching clouds, we resumed our journey in the guaca bpusqueda. That was when we began to pick the most obscure and dark paths. "It's here," Laura said without hesitation, saying the road less pleasant. "Now it's here," said, indicating a worse way, and added, seeing my glass eyes "do not be afraid, knucklehead, that I care." I was clinging to his hand as if the only thing alive in that world, without even knowing where my feet trod.

We reached a very dark corner of the forest. I was very scared, and my heart beat fast. She was launched on the ground, and whispered "get down, we're already coming." Almost immediately, I threw myself headlong into the floor. I thought that if she did everything she said, undoubtedly would survive, and out of there healthy and well. So great was the fear that I could not remember what we had come for. "Come after me," she whispered, as she glided through the forest floor slowly, hiding from the spectral guardians of guaca. "Hey," he murmured, "do you see the big tree that is there? There is the guaca. But we have to expect that terror is gone. I just saw him crossing on that side. " I had a sincere desire to mourn. "The ghost?" He asked, his voice trembling with fear. "You really saw him? And how is it? ". When she began to describe it, eyes tightly shut, while the spirit was taking shape on the black background of my eyelids closed. "It is very high as three meters. Her arms nearly reach the floor, and has long legs and skinny. Drag the steps as if it were too old, or if you were very tired, and is always looking at the floor. So far there has been noise, but when it whispers, it is understood nothing, as if to complain with your mouth closed. " I was so scared, I felt suddenly really wanted to pee, and so did Laura know. She responded with character, while murmuring: "You're crazy! How can you get to pee right now? Can not you see we are close to guaca, and we can discover the horror? Hold as males! It also leaves the shock, that I told you that I care. While here, you, do not nothing bad will happen. " Sweating and shivering, I murmured to himself, that I endured, and who knows what things I said. Suddenly, Laura was raised from the corner where we were hiding, I looked like a blast, and said "run, the horror is just out, let's grab the guaca!". I ran behind her, looking at the floor to keep from falling, but not daring to look over anything for fear that meet beyond horrible spectrum. Our race was only a hundred yards, but made me forever. I thought we'd never get to that tree demon where was this tart guaca that had long since ceased to interest. "Run, Javier, run!" I cried Laura, when he was about to reach the destination.

Panting, afraid to die, I got to where it was Laura, looking everywhere, almost sensing the ghost shadow over our heads. I hugged her from behind, and closed my eyes. "Let go, and stop being a coward," she said, trying to wiggle out of my embrace of iron. "Help me find the huaca, quick, before the coming of the dead. Must be in here. Must be a crock. " I had to gather all my strength to release it and open the eyes again. I looked left, right and left again, and in every corner saw shadows that looked a lot like the monster that I described Laura moments ago. "Come on, Laura, come," he told me, almost begging. She took my hands, and asked me to shut his eyes tight, as he made a prayer that her mother had ever taught, with which it could be haunted guacas visible. I closed my eyes with all the strength I had left, but instead of listening to a hymn or a prayer summoning the spirits of those buried treasures hidden, I felt all warm sweetness and moisture to your lips on mine, united always my soul in what was my first kiss of love.

Today, old and near death, perhaps this is the only beautiful memory guaca I left the erosion of time, and get along well planted and protected in the depths of the heart.

Homemade Coin Pusher Plans

On the way

The track was getting darker. Big drops of rain beat against the glass front of the car, covering with a thin film of water's smooth surface fast enough to keep the wipers in service only conduct its work efficiently. The road was hostile, protecting who knows what strange secret with sharp bends and sectors collapsed. The car proceeded relentlessly, recklessly, traveling at excessive speed. In a tight-run single channel, because the other had rolled down the hill in the recent rains, "the vehicle's rear rubber chewed the air, an instant after the driver closed his eyes momentarily. The thrill of the body to return to the path did not seem out of his stupor, on the contrary, the sound of falling rain, forced the engine noise, lulling the slight wobble in the irregularities of the road, the infinitely distant horizon lighted by occasional electric shocks all around him, dark and cold- somehow seemed sympathetic to the painful feeling, as dark as night enveloped the senses. Deep tears ran down his face, silently reporting of a wounded soul. Brake, accelerate, turn right or left, even the simple act of looking through the small rear view mirror, they were only conditioned reflexes. Quantities of memories invaded his mind. Some of the best witnesses of a past that seemed overshadowed by the remoteness in time. The rest, not so friendly, much more numerous, they tortured him mercilessly. But the worst were the repressed desires of the things that never came to fruition. Incomplete many, many not even started, how many dreams thrown in the trash! How cowardly had been all his life, while he himself was deceived by imagining the opposite! Just at that moment was truly conscious, to the depths of their bones, the unforgivable manner in which he had failed himself ...

Rain perpetuated. The freezing night belonged to the suffering of his soul, and seemed to accompany them with endless tears and inanimate. The car continued to advance into the deep bowels of the dark. The road remained unusually empty. Few drivers were reckless enough to take on their responsibility to control a vehicle in one night so broken as this, by a route so decomposed as night. But he could not much matter now. Too many problems absorbed their sanity: the departure of his wife, lover spurious, the long and fruitless waiting for the return, the inexorable sterility that prevented him from planting the seed of their offspring unpayable debts with the miserable salary of underemployed groups; everything, including his failing health, his weakness of character, his irreparable evil fate, absolutely everything, their dilapidated home, full of leaks and cracks throughout the fall, all the ruins, all the scraps of what once ancient times, there been a full life, full of dreams and dreams, the promise of eternal love, travel projects in remote places, of laughter and joy among the fleeting fantasies of alcohol, all pain, all anguish, all the fear-ever all-fell with crushing weight on his weary shoulders.

rain raged more and more. "This became storm," said the man, squinting his eyes, looking to improve the focus of a road that seemed to have disappeared. The darkness was wounded by the two sad lines of light emitted by the headlights ... A suddenly appeared shapeless. It was just a shadow, a small figure that was visible for only a tiny fraction second. The coup was inevitable. The driver was about to lose control of the vehicle to give a major swerve, he almost throws him off the road, where a black abyss expected. But it did not fall. After straightening the car, stopped and began slowly reversing. Wanted to know what had struck. While retreating, he thought of his bad luck that did not give truce. Pulled over the car as best he could, he felt all the hostility of the night to open the door, and went down with the heart stopping. A weak and pitiful groans came from a few meters ahead, but the deep darkness hid what was its origin. The man walked toward the source, with uncertain step, and heart, which just seconds ago was suffering from uncertainty, which was eventually broken completely. A wave of pain hit him first in the chest, then her eyes filled with tears that immediately, "and then spread throughout the body. At his feet, with half his body destroyed, lay a small brown dog, bathed in blood and guts, which, while moaning, looking at his executioner in all innocence. Tried to get up, but the hind legs did not seem to answer. The man could not avocados so much pain. Looking into the infinite darkness, feeling in his face as the cold mixed with rain drops tears spilling, shouted: "Why do you do this, God? Why did you put it on the road? Why this poor creature has to pay for my sins? ". He bent and held in his hands the head of the mortally wounded dog. This, as if forgiving to him who had caused so much suffering, humbly licked her hand. And not moaning. The pain of being alone and unprotected at the time of his death, torn, feeling like life was going, was isolated in the presence of these warm and merciful hands out of nowhere. The cry of man complemented the silent pain of the dog. Dog innocence erased all the old man's pain. Those no longer importing ... because of him, for his irresponsibility, for his terrible fate, the poor creature was suffering in his arms, and he, powerless, feeling the most miserable person of all mankind, accept the licks like daggers that wounded his heart to destroy it. A few seconds later, after some mild cramping and desperate, the dog's life was extinguished. The man stood there, beside the dead body for a long time, watering with tears wounds which had escaped the soul of the dog. Then, blinded by grief, stood up, holding the body in his arms, and rode in the car. After starting the engine, let the whole weight pose of despair on his right foot, in charge of the throttle. The engine roared, as if aware of the time, and shouting his determination to accept that proposition ... The wheels skidded on the wet pavement, and then transmitted to the body a blind thrust. The old road would remain forever the same, as the guardian of an indecipherable secret with its twists and dangers, but the man knew the only way possible to reach it, to achieve eternal peace at last, to reach a distant place where they can see the passions without being affected by them, the site where indifference, dark and cold as night, he would finally rest. The solution was always before his eyes ... The end of the road was not the end of the road. No. At the end of the road was only pain. The end of the road was quiet, eternal peace ... and in that distant place, timeless, uniquely human problems, in that place, where no consciousness, no pain, no pleasure, there in that dark place, could endure the martyrdom of an eternal soul ... Penetrate into the dark shadows steadily, holding "forever", a dog in his arms ... would come to his eternal ...

Sasusaku Story Nowadays

The fruit

"How strange, Lucio, I thought I already told you about my tree ... is a story a bit simple, but I'm sure you'll forgive me if you like ... Is not it? Well, it all started a few years old ... not so many, love, not so many, what do I know, about twelve or thirteen, while still living in the old country house, with my parents and my brother, who was about five or six years ... I was ten, and then was a very lonely girl: I am not related to other kids my age, my brother was too young to play with him, and my parents, well, they were always busy living, fighting for daily bread, so I had no other choice than get to play with myself ... but do not make that face, it was not as boring as it sounds! In a field behind the house, was planted a large tree that never bore fruit. We did not know what kind it was, which did not bother me. For me, this giant was the best place for games that could have. It was an exciting place where I could feel more bird than human. To make myself out, I think that spending more time on their branches with the feet on the ground. I remember climbing lived a thousand imaginary adventures in your glass: formidable pirate wars, where heavy industries were the stern, bow, cabins and masts, and their leaves were countless candles that are inflated with the wind, insects, hunted around type, which it then compete in races where the loser, he paid with his life's defeat was an observation tower where I could see the enemy armies trying to destroy our strong-my old house of mud and palm-and sometimes simply slept among the leaves , rocked by the gentle evening breeze ... and did many things, Lucio, but I will not bore you all ... contándotelas colossus that became my main playmate, one who never bothered or tired, and claimed me for anything I did. I am convinced that the best toy a child has is his imagination, as this can turn anything into what you want ... at least so do poor children have no video games or cell cars, or dolls so vivid that they only need to talk and think for themselves ... do not forget that coming and going of black ants, which made a ground eternal journey to the branches, where they tore the parasites ate fresh leaves, and took them trapped in their strong jaws, tree down. He would spend countless hours watching his systematic work ... In short, I think I understand what I mean ...

One day, when least expected, from a middle branch began to grow a small green ball: it was the first fruit was the tree, or at least the first I knew him. You can imagine how excited I got. Every day he looked happy, impressed with how quickly it grew. When he began to change color, I nearly bust ecstasy. I ran to tell my parents the wonderful event and then, somewhat disappointed and not understanding how little interest they had shown, return to the tree to fruit that look as real as it was previously known. Now I understand that is hard to work the land, and farmers are poor are hardened souls with the sacrifices they face daily. But thirteen years ago, could not disclose the reason for his cold apathy towards the fruit of my tree ...

For the face you put, you do not seem to understand my affinity for fruit. Never mind, sweetie, you noble aspects that prevent you become an insensitive ... but why not continue walking while tell you my story finished? Well, I was saying: when the fruit was large and ruddy, perspiring health and life, my father came cochinera just build a site where it was planted my tree. To make a concrete floor, I needed to uproot. Can you imagine my distress? One afternoon, without warning, he hired a group of boys who, armed with axes and machetes, began to swing their blows against the tree trunk. What could I do? Nothing, Lucio, I could not do anything ... my children and oppose efforts that disaster was a source of laughter among the murderers ... when I tried to hug the trunk, in a last desperate attempt to prevent further cutting, my father pushed me apart, saying that the tree only served to hinder, not even bore fruit, and I was screaming yes, yes bore fruit, to look the environmental industry, there is, Dad, the yellow fruit ... but nothing helped. In the end, the big tree eventually gave in, like me, and he hit the ground. The same guys who had overthrown, were ordered to smash it to end of hacks, chipping with cruelty, decreasing to make fuel for fires. The rest of the trunk, who stood rooted to the ground, knocks him out peak ... maybe you can not imagine how much I cried for the loss of my friend. The next day, with a heart full of bitterness, I went to the place where it remained until just a few hours ago, good tree upright, and there on the ground, an orphan, lost among so many ruins and tatters, was the yellow fruit, detached leaves wrapped with ... I took in my hands, and that was enough to end up breaking my heart. The cry rose up to become a sea grew uncontrollable. My mother, who watched this touching scene from a corner came over and told me that if he loved that tree, why not planted the fruit, so the tree could live again ... I asked: Do you think, Mom?, but she had me back and, with his usual walk weary, he left to take care of their chores. Excited with a new enthusiasm in the soul, ran to open a little hole in the ground to bury the priceless treasure that was in my hands ... after a while, revived my friend, and took care of him during his first months, feeling very happy to see it grow a little more each day. But, as my parents decided move to seek better opportunities, I had to leave to their fate ... however, I fear for him, I'm sure he'll be fine ...".