This time I will write in eyes closed because I will not comment on the new jewel of Darren Aronofski. Noble but rather to note that today's life (such as in a tango of Discépolo) has made me get dressed again as a fighter, and as Randy "The Ram" Robinson walking with the camera in the back, puffing the fatigue of years, at least for the battles that I face.
are different solitudes, is another daughter that I know and it's another death that awaits me. However, I resent the same weight as the crowd cheers him while he calls (and autoexige) as far more extreme than their own destiny has been determined. Randy and Robin not - is the one and only able to overcome not only the Ayatollah but their own failure. I, the blind in the country of the wrongs, I'm the only one capable, in the last round rematch of , to get back on the ropes, open my arms, spit and throw my scars on the destination to beat.
bowling
And because it takes poetry, this time will not bring it up to any big, but just to share a sketch of parapoema born in the Plaza Cortázar, where he was born Borges Street (I add this information at least nod to these teachers), a day April 27, 2009, a warm night breeze-just a Buenos Aires inspiring perfect.
... dedicated to the girl to Cortázar
parasitic Sadness your eyes
arrived on Monday and holidays abolished
the weight of his chains dragging you crying
that Chinese torture, drop by drop just evaporates
backlit glow and I see
counterclockwise to take it off the anguish of
with a kiss like a blow
uproot
tear your eyes if necessary
and search
where lost in a bid
where you showed your face fear.
To Randy and fighters, a Salieri fondly. Click here.
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