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desolate soul


slowly, you feel the vibration

like everything around us trembles

one feels and is not meant to be perceived consciously

but the traces, these mental thread, fine as hairs

or even finer

stretched us to the most remote

do we account for how objects

perceive us

When Press On Stomach It's Sore a little humor

would be ashamed. Suzuki's new in our country, knows more about history than you. "

The She heard a whisper:" To hell with the damned Japanese! ".

Who said that, asked the teacher. Again

Suzuki raises his hand and says: - "General Mc Arthur, 1942."

The class is silent and one of the guys back said: "I'm going to throw up."

The teacher about who was the disrespectful: "Enough
Who said that?

And Suzuki says: - "George Bush, Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."

One student was furious and yells at the Japanese from the background: "Chupame it!".

Susuki, almost jumping in his chair,tells the teacher: - "Bill Clinton to Monica Lewinsky, 1997."

who was number one in the class yelled, "I was first until I get this Japanese shit."


Y Susuki Answer: - "Mario Vargas Llosa - Peruvian Elections 1990."

class into a state of hysteria. The teacher passes out, chaos is rife.

While the boys are swirling around the vanished masterpiece, one of them exclaims:

"Shit, cagamos, and now as we leave this mess ?...."

- Y Suzuki says, "Nestor Kirchner, Buenos Aires, JUNE 2007 "

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They realized that the number six, should be odd? I do not know why, but sounds odd ... not in form, but in its essence ... does not fit with others ... or perhaps deserves an own category ...
also realized how stupid it is to fix a sign to prohibit signs are posted?

in other, how much helplessness! not because of global injustice, or anything ... Maybe if some of the elections in Buenos Aires, I have to ... but yes, there is a terrible helplessness, perhaps most unfair of all, that of knowing yourself ... one has to deal with it daily and there is no way around it ... be in crisis, to say ... I will blow something in the head ... I think I'm living confused ... hurt the people you qant ... afford to deny it ... impotence of knowing yourself ... the unbearable lightness of being and the damn serious ...
'm fine, because running into walls, helps one to wake up ... but I have so sleepy ... and so many dreams ...
I hope they will honor my wishes ... How ironic
found me a bit again and we want to lose ...
is terrible as a maverick who is ... able to comply from time to time, would, to change a bit ...

pity not have felt as revolted all around you, Ri .. but I understand ... Remember that once felt this way of living and dead, waiting for a bus back to La Plata, I think in October 2004, when everything was much moreSimple, I was more sensitive to these things and had many more things to think and will die or live.

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The endangered

is love. I have to hide or flee. Grow
his prison walls, like a fearful dream. The beautiful
mask has changed, but as always the only one. That I will
my talismans: the practice of literature, the vague scholarship, learning
the words I use, the rugged North
sing their seas and their swords, the serenity of friendship, the galleries of the Library,
common things, habits, the young love of my mother, my shadow military
dead, the timeless night, the taste of sleep?
Being with you or without you is the measure of my time.
already singingor breaks on the source, and the man rises
to the sound of birds have already been obscured by the windows watching,
but the darkness has not brought peace.
It's, you know, love, anxiety and relief to hear your voice,
waiting and the memory, the horror of living in the future.
is love with its own mythology, with its little magic useless.
There is a street corner that I dare not go. Now the armies
surround me, the rabble.
(This room is unreal, she has not seen.)
The name of a woman betrayed me.
hurts a woman in the whole body .

Jorge Luis Borges -----------

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the same.

And if you look at my temples you see your reflection, present and palpable, tired of walking among the recesses of my mind.

And if you put in your mouth a word, it is neurotic. With your mind, let me create for me a space sheltered from the cyclical storms and clouds of sand, let me take root somewhere and name shelter. In your mind, take my nomadic existence and call forgetfulness. And if you close your eyes and your mouth, if you let the thaw comes in winter and storms collapse between your fingers pontiff might have succeeded and met your goal, you may have your religion errant tax and I can make some sacrifices, for perpetuity, in chimeric altar. If you close yours eyes, you might invent a separate dimension to the call memory. If you look at me if you show your teeth if you touch the wounds and wrinkles if you put in your mouth a word, let me be chaos, Let me give you some advice: Close your eyes and follow my veins and my hair, do not walk in my temples, wanders through your mind and do not use your smile or your eyes, close your eyes

ephemeral-only shine a second and become a wolf running to nowhere on the snow, like mine, "Closing the output

of your powers, Close your eyes and maybe migrating is sitting watching me walk in the opposite direction to any of my wishes.

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I've been stirring virtual drawers, seeing what was before today ...
found this ... the most beautiful of all translations I've done, maybe the one I identified the make ... and no, but it was ... and there are things that are ... I remember fondly the days when it was only a trace ... Full feeling sometimes, not so good ... mainly because there is always something missing ...
By the way, I'm happy ... ---------------------

light skin

light skin enveloping the world characteristics of depth and I can really see the dark night of all these similar bodies beneath the trembling veil and my own light is the night that even the