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Oda sad

writer

of dispassionate look, honest, real ...

"How would you see if you know how everything works?"

seems to tell us that dark pupil

talented behind the lens sample monster.

He always knew

unfortunate but struggled

blood and ink to be read,

and never

failed to keep writing. Tallied

rejection after rejection,

no publisher wanted it, and its

exhiliado pen

American, Latino, South,

in Catalonia,

never ceased in its efforts:

continued knitting lives on paper.

He knew that one day play in the first

despite his profession wake

friendly mockery

its human fauna.

was poor, not published, passed

cold and misery,

and only eternal heritage

it were a few memories,

some good, some thugs, bad the rest ...

But he, he was creating and plotting the unreal, what else did he care!

writer was known and honored with responsibility

infernal task, gift duty ... etc.

I just watched a good documentary

about his life and miracles (can you tell?). Bolaño

rose to fame in the mid-forties

(after a handful of awards

literary rather humble), and died

just opened the third millennium.

Bolaño, named Robert ...

I've only read their stories, their detectives

wild and bestial

number

await me in some dark and dusty corner of the library

Old Town. The

seek the good works of Bolaño ...

Bolaño, "infrarrealists? The characters he invented

following beings and friends of the environment,

and when they were naughty

threats to kill them in fiction.

do things ... And they say in the documentary that the glory

came after living

thousand and one calamities,

all celebrity postpartum paperil

not the least affected:

caught him hard and cold as a stone Arctic.

good example to follow, right?

By the way, loved "The Invention of Morel",

book who goes home. I'll read it ...

And of course, made fun of small literary contests

cluttering Spain.

This Saturday,

server will pick one ...

God has good stash,

in the suite of writers

damn

(friend

Bolaño).

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Fate does not exist ... She

no mistake ...

It's nice to another

cede all responsibility for what happens to us

,

YES,

but it is neither fair nor rational

,

or mature.

Fate does not exist,

if you come to think, oh

naive,

the weathervane of your existence

run by another,

abstract entity,

parent, given

cursed,

toss of a coin criminal.

Not so,

Destiny, God, being superior,

wand, guardian angel, guardian cherub

,

there is fraud,

air, sleep, impossible .

's up to you all,

how you live, how

finish your day.

not expect it to be a hoax

you direct your ship:

the deepest shipwreck

DECEPTION.

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writes for the love, so that want to be reminded that she is alive, young and healthy ...

remarque Write to him: "One, two, three, wake up!" Life is this, either you take it or leave it ...

Ellla ... It seems a shame ... always trying to give pain to others ... She

... What is known about the rules of the game, but that is dumb ... dumb, dumb, dumb ... She

... Gives the hiccups when drinking more than usual (of late, drink more account often) and believes that He will come to save her ... stupid, poor, give me one of PENA and ASCO MIX ...: Do not you know that you only have yourself? He does not exist ... She

... If anyone knew it, if someone were allowed to be helped by you as you help ... The things you would be better ... She

... Torture your body and your soul, do you think you immortal? She

... Your body is due (again): go to sleep, you need it ...

Sample Welcome Letter Salon

I ... Hatching

but what a fool I was, by God! How silly, very silly ...

In all, I mean ... Especially in love, love, love, love ...

things I would do alone, and that alone would arise, would be refined and explode ...

And no, not ...

Life is effort, life is suffering, work and reward, and all those things that our parents preached automata (without us they believe, accusing them of being inflated).

How stupid I was to be considered a special, independent, classic, individualistic, worthy (especially worthy), worthy of that everything was done according to my wishes without my having to move even one my smug fingers ...

I wanted the person chosen chose me, so easy, as in fairy tale, with a snap without having to do anything. She would come and tell me: I, I love you. And the sky would open in two, and both molten sulfur in a kiss and glucose, we rise to the happy sky, and reign for ever and ever surfeit of undying love. And an end. And all, without doing anything. Love, love, that is not love. I ... I was stupid, now I realize. The only good a birthday: the facts confirm the worst suspicions. The simplicity absent when ambitious conquer goals.

So ... listen to me, unsuspecting readers of the Arcadia Unhappy! If you love now, confess to their idolized / a right now! Not after tomorrow, or later, or when the time comes, will give the case or the sap of alcohol may make to a steel guts. No, NO! Now self. Declare your love for your loved one right now. Does the rejection? I do not understand the word. I, on this occasion, I'm teaching you to be brave. I do not speak of failure specimens. Although that matter is a good time It is time to insights about this ... Hold on. And today do their homework: they declare their love. Then, may be too late ...

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(paranoia Fall) exemplary II

A Confederacy of past torture came to an end,

and the small and slimy worm

night knew it was time:

reborn in another body.

He climbed to the top of the corroded sheet

that crowned his tree house,

well, as an altar,

and reveled in his image of delicacy

sacrificed to the gods.

Their purpose? That

that his dirty skin,

abject, disgusting, used for both

pretend to live when in fact it was a coat

dead, stinking,

release your true essence.

A ray of sunshine with great fury tore

the blue sky and cold as

the blood of a demon, and the poor

worm looked into

divine beings exist prior to sacrifice their pestilential

Costume:

"I need a change of skin" was justified

unnecessarily.

And he said, and did, and tore the flesh

dense strips ...

few drops of blood splashed

thick rounds of insect eyes, injected into destructive

desire, and the worm

tormented

was suddenly black and strange,

and sore.

But a snort

was sweet enough for the last scratch

of pain, there, in your trunk at least

disappeared: voilà! Fell into two wings,

glorious, dark red, here's the butterfly!

The worm was gone, the princess will replacing air.

The dead skin torn from the tree fell to the ground,

as garbage, excrement, horror etc ... and the Butterfly

pride began flight.

to join their family, to kill with its beauty.

was so happy, like grooves in the air ...

so happy,

still did not know that butterflies do not live

over two

days.

If I had known,

have missed their stinking meat

of nasty worms, rotting
,
disappearing ...