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Talita Cumi Romanticism

Henry wrote us in late summer. He liked to say that from Somebody's niece is the sheriff. Now she missed him. It was true, and we said no such things. Or chewed gum. The nostalgia was insistent as the light of a brothel. And also as brothel, had blue velvet walls. Spoil the future. All roundabouts, junctions, the crossroads that radiated beauty crossed with posters of exotic names: Sonora, Puerto Principe, Macao, Abyssinia, Region. But we had put our heart into a serious predicament. We did not know the extent of things. Or we spent on ready or we played dumb. And that we had no scenes in super 8, or draft form, and that someday our memory drugs or erase last year's poems in the toilets of bars, sneak cigarettes in the McDonalds, the couch of a portal too bright, the snow, the basement of a bookshop, a library in the middle of a park a flat ice cream in a suburb, several illegal vhs, pasta dishes with tomato, poems, silliest girls in the world, coffee and cigarettes, and above all faith in this world worth more than shit.

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1999

had just can not wait for the summer so hellish. The city swelled with the sweltering heat of August. It became bigger and bigger. Fattened. Devoured its confines. Imposed on their limits. And time flew like a river of thick mud, slow, sly, relentless, invisible. The streets were empty. All bars were cast about the closure for holidays. We expected to see at any time the horsemen of the apocalypse, and that distant 1999. The roots of the trees burst sidewalks in search of a sip of water. We spent the afternoon in the shade of taller buildings. We were afraid to die poisoned by the fumes of asphalt. Or rather, we hope, now that the seasons do not issue return tickets, and our voice had been hollow without your name of four letters.

met a guy

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Fred Bonnie and Clyde

who had been living at a campsite about fifteen years. In a caravan, like those wretched Americans who wear cowboy boots and drinking warm beer on the porch of a steak bar. There were raindrops on the window of our car, but it had not rained. Or even see clouds in the sky. Only cirrus far stabbed by dusk. Fred. Fred called the guy who chewed snuff and dreamed of finding a job in a video club, falling in love with a hairdresser to prepare meatballs with spicy sauce, and cheesecake and blueberries. He dreamed of food, almost, rather than screwed, rather than making money. I guess after fifteen years heating cans of beans in fire of a gas camping learn to set priorities. Moreover, Fred made us think that the only way to set priorities in life is this: the prolonged misery. If not, date of screwed. Fred invite you a drink and told us a thousand stories incredible. Things without too much sense. We laugh not feel like shit jokes. Then continue the trip. A couple of days later we talked to him, had found, in the middle of a county road, a brothel, of 12:00 to 16:00, offering a delicious menu.

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Police tighten the noose. We trod the talones.Sospechábamos besieging the fold each corner behind every newspaper in the park, under each of the felt hats that crossed the street with the elegance of paper boats. Wished to get us a pack of truth, those garrote, electric chair, or in the best cases, imprisonment. So turning a blind eye to drugs and veneers, with pequeñas.No things were fools, idiots. They were eager to surprise us with their hands in the dough. They knew they were either us or them. Or our ass, or that of humanity. But when we put our hands on it would be too late. What a lacerated face are going to stay! Just thought we were dying of laughter. We were going to dimple a cliff at the epicenter of the planet. And then jump without a net. We believed in love! What good were the parachute? Would not have mattered. We believed in the fucking love. We were doomed in advance.

Card On Anniversary Of A Death

Success

birds we had at the peak flying pieces of us. Skin, flesh, viscera. Even an eyelid. We won! All of our plans to leave the pit had been a success. On this day, ten years ago, we burned coniferous forests, asaltábamos stations, wore beaming smiles and wedding shirts. Did not suspect that we drink or choke the bile, ground water, liquid developer. Not that we would become two-headed monster. But we grew the nails. We sharpened their teeth. We entered the mouth of the cat. And the only way to show our kindness was the failure. An alleged failure and full of sadness, emptiness, loneliness.

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Congratulations to all !!!!!