Saturday, January 23, 2010

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Thinking of you

readers, prepare an entry point psudo-intellectual to enjoy you. Sorry to be taking so long, but I want to make things right. On Monday, back to school and wait to be with my friends, those lovable fools. This entry is not for you nor for me. This entry is for someone who changed my life, probably forever, and there are many things I want to say. So here I go.

writing this to you, not at this time is single, but perhaps could not do it if I were with someone. I write this not to come back or Reconsider, because what we had was unique. I write because no matter how much time has passed, you're still one of the most terrible memories that I have sweet and crisp. I write to thank you. Now my life goes on fine without you but from time to time make me stop and smile at some memory you gave me. Even today I think you've been the best friend I ever had in my life.

Time has taught me how difficult it is for two people they are, are so similar, and love as we did. In retrospect I realize how huge it was your love so tender an anarchist bowed just to please a little girl who wanted cut their wings and never lose, how difficult it must be done right and the courage he showed.

View masacreishon and zombie movies is not the same without you, our plans for escape in case of a Zombie Outbreak, rating the movie skulls would buy weekly, as I laughed at how poorly made they were few. Nor does the music is the same. My love of rockabilly is yours worth 90% and 10% natural availability. I also "discovered" some bands that I like and now you, a boy, adored. Who would you like me now We are 138, the song that you played with your band when I went to see you play, before you ask let her? Do the 69 eyes, both Asquith gave me? I hear the records you did for me and it's like getting back together.

miss playing with you, push the grass and roll. I miss your nonsense about wrestling, you and Victor, ninjas pirates games, dress up your absolute availability. Strange mourn with you, hugged, and how fortunate we were to be together. I miss our attitude of "Natural Born Killers" when we went to the movies and everything was stolen and "revenge to the system, removing trash vessels to fill them in burger king, the" Mafia of Cinema ", run and do not see that we slipped. Your sentence: I want to be like Antonio Banderas, tall, handsome, and mariachi Mexican (although it's wise English).

Our continuous changes look stupid, half a head shave, super elegant, nineteenth century to that of pirates. I was taller than you, and still proudly wearing heels and we walked together. Every time you liked a movie style changes, and your insistence damn boots "high cane" for the zombies do not bite their ankles. Obsessed with Hannibal Lecter to the point of worship. Our evenings youtube, watching "The time chanante" while some intellectual snobs who would always book under his arm and the other to embrace. Nestled in the "L" at first, lost love, cynical in the courts of the CCH (as we came up with that!). I remember when I met, both dressed in red and black, birthday gifts you gave me, all red carnations, anniversaries, our picnic in the cemetery, that first time in your grandmother's house (I swear it was perfect) .

Although there were almost as many truly devastating and terrifying moments as great, they no longer see the point. My favorite memory is of the beach, we wake up hugging, without my mother I throw the shoes out the window. Dresses walked beside the sea or coldplay, eternal sunshine, and a butterfly chasing me. You gave me a ring and marriage proposal typewriter. The perfect moment.

reminded of all this, you still do not know if you do, say all this rodeo just to say you will never forget. Always love the sweet boy you were.

want you to know that nothing was in vain. That was not an error. You do not hold grudges and I hope you do not. I now understand what was best for both. That the only way we could grow. I would say: I wish we had known more, to be like Johnny and June, but the magic was in our total ignorance of things, innocence. In the "Princess Gatitita" the illusion of first love. Now I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate every detail of what happened to us, which to me is a priceless treasure. What I miss most is your friendship. You're the only person I read my thoughts, which had the same references that I put up with me intellectually rhythm, which made up for me emotionally, and with whom flying hours without ever getting bored.

I miss you, my friend, thank you, first love, always remember you, Christian. This is for you, a song that gave me a poem that I gave you. I can only say: Klopstock.

The Garden 11-March-2006

sunshine slept together ethereal,
poets disguised in the shadows, feeling
wild waves of death,
fun of what they call infinity. We

giddy flight of a butterfly, imagining
touch impossible clouds, strolling
places that still do not exist beyond
dreaming, like two children.

weep for the future, I dread the fact that without you
the wonderland is collapsing, the sky bloody
collapses,
the angels in heaven commit suicide.

world So take me away, take me for your garden
, kiss the roses,
me believe that the time is gone, make me feel
eternity.


Still I wake up in the morning thinking of you by Goma

Friday, January 8, 2010

Acrostic Poem Of Black Death



I had my first boyfriend at age fifteen. Before that I obsessed with guys who only saw from afar and I spent months fantasizing about fictional characters. My first relationship was both a dream and a nightmare (especially for him). When I'm not crazy about our romance almost background music was the ditty of Dawsons Creek. I loved dearly, I gave it my all, tried together everything a couple can try and committed all the errors that can occur in a relationship. When finished, after two and a half years together, I spent six months drowned in alcohol and sex vacuum, until I met "N", quite the opposite to my first love and we had six months of forced, but two of sweet happiness and tears and questions until he had his accident. Months later I fell again, but briefly, as I read.

Now I'm here, with nineteen years and admit that never in my life, at least since I have four years and met Diego, a little boy who I envisioned as my future husband, I have been comfortable with my solitude. I imagine that this attitude stems from my father. My brain hypersensitive, fueled by consumer fairy tales avidly since I learned to read, the romantic comedies and kids movies that end with happily ever after, played his game as a challenge and a betrayal of the flesh.

Who've been all these years? Does precociously intelligent child, but distracted preferred drawing, which soured after its existence, and their rebellion was put in his own world antisocial, writing pages and pages of love absent all day, dreaming of being crazy, the crazy are creative geniuses and had very few friends, which at the bottom visceversa despised? Christiandrea ", which seemed so close Siamese and always spoke in the plural about the future? Does the alcoholic slut, redeemed by the love of an older man, serious, but secretly loving (in his mind), that again lose their self-destructive habits? Who am I now? And

most important question: who will be now that I know all this and I'm tired of always being someone who dreams of a person who does not arrive?

Right now I'm concerned, in one of these stages of introspection and reflection, accompanied by a burning desire for something that still do not know. I feel like screaming, a million things at once, my legs tingle and tremble, pleading an unknown activity. I think many things and small. Everything has become a fuzzy haze around me and I feel overwhelmingly lonely. From what I am sure is that I do not waive to sensuality. Art and desire are the only things constant in this time. I have many short-term plans, back out, accept these invitations long overdue with some photographers who curiously seek me and plan well a couple of photo sessions with the help of my old and dear friends, Elvira and Ximena (just mentioned, but no less important).

My libido escaped from his cage more fierce and cynical than ever. It has been interspersed with a lot of artistic filias half and I have in hand (and legs) several projects in mind. Advance that all include conceptual art, painting, photographs, masks, men and nudity.