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The Prehistoric

cost The words in these days of financial crisis,

distract The coins,

as I lose my vacuum, in hoping that the door creak and show up with that restless,

soon as I get lost in thought, without finding shit.

some time ago I remember going into the woods at night looking crescent and the branches, basting one by one, in that gentle song was all that looked. And now shit.

to remember as I penetrated into the dark world of letters, the fireflies would tell me a story that left me lost in an endless open-ended. Crickets foam led me to love poetry closed insatiable and insane. Miles branches, many shrubs, such fragrance that woke her nose buried at the foot of a tree. Until one day in mid-afternoon I found myself in this desert shit and a fear of shit.

In the desert ...

could say that the walls were huge clouds of grass and sap the air of the sea. But in reality or lying around smelled like shit.

could say maybe it was a desert island or a city infernal

but the truth is that we are not balancing, no dreams, no reality.

We

more death.

So we should sink.

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Tempus fugit

things (restaurant bills, dried flowers, papers chorras drawings, photographs of a thousand, emails, letters, even when I was in elementary school ...), memories that help me have more or less scheduled my memory which becomes more and more precarious as time passes some years now. I guess this comes from my mother and my grandfather it ... in the end we are a family of collectors in either direction.

The fact is that until recently had never thought this could bring me trouble. But lately there are things that seem to emerge from the earth as zombies, those that grab your ankle to fall the ground. And no, I've fallen but the odd stumble and start to think that it is so fun to have around to avoid oblivion. I guess this is something that one does not realize it until they have lived enough things to begin to clump together and pull back with its unique perfume what is to come.

Perhaps our brains have more self-preservation instinct than we think ... so I'll stop reading and review things for a while, and not just mine ... the story is not written a single book.