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Cuarto Intermedio

People

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MI Tractatus

-O how to make a text for literary reviewing the contents of next week's part-

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"6.521 The solution of the problem of life is the disappearance of this problem"

Wittgenstein. Tractatus logico-philophicus

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6. Attempt to acknowledge the love is meaningless.

6.001. When love does not legitimize any relation to speculate.

6.0011. The mirror is considered one relationship between one (1) made and one (1) statement.

6.026. Not being able to declare the statement false love because you can only declare false what testable reality.

6.083. Love in itself and as I presented is a statement not synthetic, or tautological.

6.01. The world consists of facts and not things or thoughts.

6.011. A thought is as stated only a meaningful proposition

6.0111. No specific meaning no experience and the experience was not as solid or unchanging conditions there were not enough (after Hume, before conditions would say), therefore there is no meaning, therefore there is no thought.

6.03. There were things related to the wording love, but things do not count.

6.08. There were no facts directly or indirectly related to the practical application of love set.

6.09. Empirical tests were more related to the lack, absence or distortion of love.

6.1. No one can explain the indifference.

6.123. Derive the heartbreak of love.

6.13. Not being or missing something that is not or is not required study.

6.132. My experience says that love can actually make sense of emptiness.

6.5. I do not know how to deal with the theme love or heartbreak.

6.51. As the first tractatus "for an answer can not be expressed, the question can not express"

6.55. I do not even ask me what love is.

6.59. I tried so many times to explain the proposition love.

6.6. You can only explain what it is.

6.8. Talk of love not for science but metaphysics.

6.81. Is metaphysical inconstrastable that empirically (until the nineteenth century positivists at least)

6.819. Adhered to without exception the proposed demarcation criterion postpones but does not resolve the initial conflict-epistemological sense.

6.85. Popper claimed the metaphysics only to the context of discovery.

6.851. Interested here in the context of justification, since the aim is to explain scientific rigor love not figure out who has begun to question or why it has.

6.9. There is no proposition sense any love or any facts known so-called love because love does not exist (and sin no recurrence here of infinite regress, although in itself this prayer is also tautological and therefore unscientific). In any case, there is instead a statement or a statement pseudo nonsense.
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7. About what we can not remain silent about (from the original)
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Pd. Logical deductivism Stamina! =) If this is not a good laugh and methods of edge, I wonder what else can I do ... which came at the end of the text without closing the window, I understand the sacrifices they have made! haha. If you want to understand digital logic or something else of that Wittgenstein and google it will open a new world ...

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Tactics and Strategy (MBenedetti) Where

My tactic is to look

learn as you are

love as you are.

My tactic is

talk

and listen

build

words

an indestructible bridge.

My tactic is

stay in your memory

not know how or know

what pretext

but stay in you.

My tactic is

be frank

and know that you're free

and we do not sell

drills

to that between the two curtain
not

or depths.

My strategy is

instead

more deeper and

simple.

My strategy is

that one day

not know how or know

what pretext

finally need me .

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Pd. Does anyone dare to deny that is precious? The day someone told me about the way I write Benedetti, I get married, lol.

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Insomnia

I)

She walked in a hurry to escape the nightmares that a while ago had assaulted by surprise by the restless night working day (ever so fragile as glass). Although a strong advocate of non-public conduct naturalization, every gesture that emanated from his privacy, every act that altered the day monocronía unabashedly gray, seemed part of a sacred ritual with its own order and its own logic. The universe that contained it could cause admiration, but was inscrutable, contemplative but never fully learned (and not be suggested as amended). So passed the first minute of the day in the city.

He ran cursing the motif of the race. One hour separated him from the tedious labor nightmare which ran as though some part of your distracted existence really wanted to reach your destination (and knew it could not be true). It all flowed like basting and yet always so different. Did not believe in the structures. He swore in the name of today. He smiled without much thought as a backdrop. Praxis life was exacerbated their dose, even in the first minute of the day in the city.

II)

She was the prototypical case of case: In case drew roundtrip ticket, bought a new battery into the kiosk, carrying a book-wide and why no-one umbrella. Her library card, two bookstores, the video store, social work, the gym no longer attended, the subway service pension contributions and, of course, "his national identity card. Life would not surprise if it depended.

He carried his briefcase full self-confidence, as if made of breeze or wind. Their belongings were moving light, which could be his or any other subject of the train station because nothing will change. Only treasured dreams. Did not mean anything but fully live her own life (which is something).

III)

She rose when the car was so full of people that an invisible rope and purpose mysterious dark fragrance united all who enters their own accord in one body, one heavy mass that came and went with the rhythm of platforms and whimsical world.

He was already up to when she was up, out of everything and within himself. Subject to the ring before now white gray organizer provided by the service company, committed the unforgivable crime of carrying face of pride in the enviable feat of being able to fully subject to that object precious way to balance the highest peak, dirtier and busiest ever.

IV)

She looked through multiple gears brain and infinite theoretical and practical formula to stay upright in the jungle.

He showed safe.

V)

She sees and approaches.

He does not move.

VI)

She takes the gray-white ring and accidentally also take your other hand.

He looks at her and she (at the same time he looks at her) withdrew his as if to ask forgiveness but could not run for not having properly planned.

VII)

He the returns to look the same but different, smiles and gives a precious piece of gray-white ring now she seems pearly or shiny or silver.

VIII)

She returns the smile because you do not like debts and he likes to behave properly.

He welcomes the surprise of the others smile and gives tacit welcome to the top with a silence and a settlement.

IX)

She thinks about how to change the world.

X)

She realizes that something in the world has just changed.

PD. Do not believe everything I write ...

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air hides

4:37 a.m.

a ewe. Two lambs. Three sheep. Will it give this result?. Four sheep. So they say. Five sheep. Six sheep. Seemed rare and nights hanging out at sailing. Seven sheep, do come the eighth?. Concentrate. Eight sheep. Nine sheep. Rest in peace Antonio. Ten sheep. I can not believe he's dead. Eleven sheep. The fifth birthday noodles my smile. Twelve sheep. His smile my birthday same generosity. Thirteen sheep. Sola increasingly alone. Fourteen sheep. Rest in peace Antonio smile who has died and my sister says that a song says everything good dies. I tell you a lie. Lie is a lie, all the good die my uncle Antonio smile rest in peace. Fifteen sheep that behold me while I weep quietly and remain silent seeing objects transitoriales hug my favorites (my bears, of course). I lost count.

a ewe. Two lambs. Three sheep. Three sheep again. Who says that after three comes the four?. Why I can not have I right in saying that after three comes after three and second three can come anything else that happening?. Basta. If I never will finish well dispersed by sleep. Change number.

Go integrated sheep. Twenty sheep. Twenty sheep. Twenty sheep. Twenty-four sheep. I can not imagine twenty-four sheep together in the same scene, and if not I lose the account. Better visualize smaller. So yeah, see? For something I say that everything has a solution. Twenty-five sheep. Twenty-six sheep. Twenty-seven sheep. Love. Twenty-eight sheep and love again. Love Always. Twenty-nine sheep. Thirty sheep. Horacio and La Maga do not exist although the two men choose wrong and we are disproportionately naive. Better believe it. Too bad to be real. Thirty-one sheep. I sleep for like hopscotch to get to heaven or to sleep in that place where thoughts become scattered dust and no return air. Thirty-two lambs. How much longer can I live without love. Thirty-three sheep. I touch your mouth with a finger touch the edge of your mouth. Thirty-four sheep. After all do not even know what love is. No, Chapter 93 does not have the answer I seek. Chapter 93 does not exist. Thirty-five sheep. Living absurdly to end the absurd thought Horacio thinking La Maga and I think I think one of my dearest friends. For something I say that everything has a reason that everything is in the books that had to go back to reread hopscotch. Where was I? Ah, yes, Thirty-six sheep. Thirty-seven sheep. I'm obviously does not know to ask who want it. Thirty-eight sheep whispering in the language of sheep as I think giving me a kiss and touch your mouth with a finger touch the edge of your mouth because love always love. Is absurd to think that the nearly five o'clock. Thirty-nine sheep. Forty sheep and kiss me I ask who wants to hear, but if not a touch your mouth with a finger touch the edge of your mouth, or bother. Do not worry or issue because from the 15 years I know I can recite it from memory and not to mistake every time you need it. Forty-one sheep. No one can die and rest in peace without having a touch your mouth with a finger touch the edge of your mouth. I had a lot of others and believe me they are worthless. I'm asking less than what they think they ask. On this side of my story. Side than yours. And in the middle of a table that is a bridge windows Talita writing the change accurate and the possibility of running out of yours or mine but together. We will not be on land but certainly closer to heaven. Giving to get, something I say I had to go back to reread hopscotch. And this from the sheep it does not work.

a ewe and is the last time I try. Two lambs. Three sheep. Four sheep. You better be. Five sheep. If the goal is to make one boring and one half is not enough in the middle. Five sheep and half sheep. Six sheep. Six and a half sheep lambs. Difficult to visualize what half sheep. Is it short? Court "horizontal, vertical or transverse? No, better not cut it, makes me feel cruel. I should keep thinking. We agree with that half is fifty percent what it is but also keeps the fifty percent that should have in place. Although it does not. But would be a hundred. Elemental (and that mathematics is not my thing). Therefore is natural to think that as I am not a hundred or a whole traffic but no life with vertical or horizontal cutting cross-evident, nor need it be my half sheep half outside. For though she and I we show it as a whole hundred or a whole both know where we are fifty because love always love and until I touch your mouth with a finger touch the edge of your mouth will continue over this side and far from heaven. So I can not sleep. And all the good die I hope it's not true but just in case better overall who bothers you cry softly. Sola increasingly alone. 7:02 a.m.



Florence, your mom says it's time to wake the tea is turn off the stove ready luck in your day how you slept no more sad. Better not say anything because love always love if all cried softly. For something I say that hopscotch.

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Thoughts of a July 1 Existence

When did I sleep on buses? The routine naturalized to the absurd. Maybe dark. I have cold and no coat that reaches to cover this vast wilderness. I sink into the anonymity of a chair again, harsh, empty, distant and hopeless, and deposit all I was there. The day is so long. Much can a silent sigh. Perhaps it is that in the world and there's only night. What if you discovered I do not see the sun because the sun has gone forever? I guess I'm used to contemplating the dark, walking in the dark, to receive without being sure, to imagine more to do. Everything is based on going further. Perhaps it was always night What will those who look at me and see me sleeping? Will someone found my piece more intimate? "I've seen as I am? Sometimes I feel it is dangerous to sleep in front of others because I can not take care of his thought. Thus not allowing me to sleep was the most daring and generous gesture that they could give. So sorry for my confidence. I wonder how my life would have changed if I had cared about keeping up appearances, be the right person and right that all planned on me (including myself). The habit of looking at me from the outside has become a ritual and I can not stop thinking about other people's eyes. Can read the thoughts that I hide behind my eyes closed? Do you scare my ghost? I still have the illusion, but pure child, that there is someone who can see me whole and still want to keep looking at me, surround me with their arms and take off once and for all the immense loneliness.

When was the last time I stopped to listen to the wind? Silence is the beginning and I've definitely lost me. Santo said it best Thomas comes from the most perfect nature. I understand and added that the man complicates everything (I more than anyone.) Will we complex beings, made up of infinite parts, and move this logic to other things. We have to understand is to understand. It is a lie. The world has a single element. The paradox is that the simplest is just what we fail to see. What is essential is invisible to the eye. Do you want? It is heard in the wind. What helps us cover the wind noise? We put names to fit our curriculum plans of study but is always composed of the same. Submit to submit it as inferior things easy with our conscience, when he lived what we have not even been able to invent. Juxtaposed with oil and water we be able to become one. Wind and noise will always be different. Noise can never windy. So we spent the days-unless there is only night, because then we can spend evenings only - and distracted us from ourselves a little longer (there's a bit more). How long? Can I take so little to forget? How long have I lost.



Pd. Could also be called manifest rebellion. Saturated I see life through a door train, a glass of group and the artificial light of the office. And while nothing changes in my structure, I agree with to shout from the rooftops ...

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I Florence. I wish my parents that 9 moons before with my own eyes saw the sun told me how it was. They decided that Florence is not any other, regardless of the long list of additional names from A to Z including the issue of Ser Padres that my mother bought excited about the summer of '88, thinking that there would be the response. I am the light of certain instant, that feeling pervades everything, that you feel when you know about the truth. Florence is my name and is part of my existence because they wanted so, without asking, but with the hope that I would. And now I like it because they liked and that a thread of the hundreds of thousands of threads that make me who I am. Could not have been Florence? Would it have been the same?

I Argentina. I am a long chain of more than a century that connects me to the country's intractable I come from, what is this and will remain so even pretend you were someone else. Nothing will erase my identity card ink a word Argentina (sacred and capital from the time of my ancestors with their footprints marked the promised land), nothing will be deleted. I am my maternal grandmother and her parents who wanted to call the same word and name, to be quite clear suspicion that here marked the history of their children and grandchildren and so on up to the writer. Blas am my paternal great-grandfather who made their marks heavy and bloody war in children's stories remain intact in the memory of my ancestors. I hear that recur like chronic truer than reality, and I dare not correct based on my academic history classes because there remains itself, that that might not be in the books because they are not universal but it makes me who I am (and that's enough and to spare). I am every moment of every member of my family ever thought about leaving and did not. I've been in the chest and heart flag Argentina, not Italy or any other country, and much as stretch out my imagination conceive of never reach otherwise.

I am a woman. I genetics that makes me XX and not XY, and I recognize myself to be happy. Chromosomes and hormones that I have only my gender being could have. It was a long list of history which made my DNA is this and not any other. I'm an aggregate more than the sum of which is an overwhelming majority of women in my family. For a woman I will mom, I will be a refuge for a child to be formed with half above and half of everything above, but from his father. And I will be part of it but sometimes prefer going to release my ghosts and my forehead lines.

I have noticed that I'm not just myself but others who came before me and will come later, or not wanting to do so. When all is said and done, I'm made of relationships, I am only a social product. What would you do if they were not but others? Who would?

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A fairy tale

There was a story that was not yet born. The small, fragile as the role that dress someday, I spent entire afternoons imagining what would your pages. He aspired to great and illustrious lyrics, solid arguments, sophisticated terms, critical success.

The story dreamed, planned and thought about their existence beyond (beyond what I knew, which is more or less what know more here). And boy was no easy task! For a story without form or content is almost no story.

And so that afternoon (the afternoon) the creature walked very quiet street in the world of the books yet but unborn babies. Sometimes starting a conversation with one of their fellow citizens, but never could finish it as God intended because they could not anticipate it disappeared. The moons changed as one changes from perfume, and night after night was the dew on your skin because more was less protected, more alone. The story of the imminent future with eyes looking up there and wondered why he never chose. Expected without knowing what was coming. Trusted without reading the lines of its future.

All this happened while I was thinking about how to make a story. As tested combinations and see that no result, I also felt more alone and less protected. But in an invisible magic moment I found out, and did find out that story and this are the same. Today I read while I write, and he knows right and is read. And meanwhile in the world of books unborn unborn but expect other jasmines ...

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... And at 12 my 20

I

so many happy, now contained in me held me victory. Here a piece, the most intimate and first in my life. Happy birthday to all of them. Happy birthday to me =)



Pd. In case you had doubts about my real name, my shirt in the photo above to the medium realizes that since I am flower.

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opening campaign speech from oblivion

Public (never more public as it is published) present (and absent also because it is absent in the now my writing but will not be in the delivery):

Leading this campaign is my pride and hope. It is not concerned with this proposal to commit indiscriminate murder and general memories, please do not accuse me of crimes against humanity so unjustly. should be understood that they are rather looking to remove residual memory that does nothing but hinder the normal walk of life.

Please do not discard my pose before submission to the mechanism of his own reasoning. It is always difficult to understand at all, but invite me to undertake the adventure of knowledge that may not be revolutionary theory but for practical purposes it is extremely useful. Requires considerable effort and concentration will mix unbreakable, but no doubt it's worth. You already know well: a greater commitment, greater reward. No matter whether to leave the cavern where he saw only shadows before the sunlight blinds him . A strength of exercise and calendars will consider the truth in its most fiery splendor. Courage! I assure you that this gym will change your life memory in the most beautiful all the senses.

The first rationale stems from an obvious fact, but not known. The rooms are in the heart have a limited number (as any real physical space, and in the chest can not be infinity.) Guests are creatures like us have the place and date of birth, weight, character, life history, and a DNA like ours but different, composed of all the variables that made whoever he is, not the room next door or some other guest who has not yet arrived and may never arrive. Until then everything runs normally. The conflict begins when a new baby, new because it only seeks to enter the heart but can not. You can not because they are all occupied housing. And they are all occupied rooms because the small gray memories and disabled have priority over strangers, so they will remain unless it is exercised (legitimately) the right of admission. But of course, not intended to be one who makes the determination to leave the memory, who else than yourself?. Vamos! Do not be a coward. If you've been the one who ultimately gave him the key and consent to stay there for some time, has been fed so they do not die, it was here when he was forgotten. You've put in place, and I look to face a deaf ear, so do yourself remove charge and what he has given. It is certainly difficult, but think about the helpless potential new guest who is pleading eyes as he looks excited to give you a space to stay alive. If he says no, never know might be inside. And if you make a mistake, you can always invoke the same right of admission invoked prior to evict . Do not see it is you who end up winning?

In all honesty I have to warn you, as the drug that includes in its prospectus the contraindications, which may be somewhat inaccurate result or bring about changes on his mind, but it's still preferable to do so, once and forever. I myself am experiencing now some anxiety that covers everything and recurrent sudden, but brief, which acts as a farewell on a creature with which I had fondly. But I'm happy with the outcome still in the sadness of having been displaced. And that is why I lead the campaign convinced: There is no irrefutable truth that successfully went through contrasting theoretical and empirical. There is no conclusive proof about the benefits of forgetting that the certainty of knowing myself better.

The room was cleared after the last eviction pending be busy, but this time he has time to act, with its threads weaving the road leading to the new creation of heaven on my door. Meanwhile I am concerned to make public (and I will not elaborate on the use of the term last because I have done in the beginning of speech) the campaign because I believe in the benefits of oblivion when it is founded and fruitful. Because space is always useful to receive the guests. Because I have enough valid arguments to hold in mind is to start looking for a new memory. I prefer this to the past and to live with it and lived. Because I'm ready to leave once and for all how damaging my heart.



No more.

Flor

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Pd. Digla copyright
Pd 2. 3 DAYS TO MY BIRTHDAY! :)

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The accomplice (JL Borges)

crucify me and I must be the cross and nails.

I tend the cup and I must be the hemlock.

I cheat and I must be lying.

I burn and I must be hell.

I praise and thank each instant of time.

My food is all things.

The precise weight of the universe, humiliation, joy.

I justify what hurts me.

I am the poet.

Pd. Are not we all of us writing the same row? Convicted and blessed ...

Borges impossible not to admire, not feeling so great. Unforgivable not to read it.

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Lately the shadow of death has crossed me on so many opportunities that I can hardly count them. Not that his intention is to chase (and much less catch me, not let him!), But has hovered on the sidewalks my head as striving to belong to the world increasingly branched from my imagination. I know their dissimilar faces on the covers of newspapers. I've seen in motion in every newscast in the country, and I felt like my pain and your tears and heartfelt condolences. I read with his words cold as marble in the anthologies of Borges and Benedetti, and also in 1 Romans of the Holy Bible. Not believe that I have not noticed the little austere and clear mechanisms that have developed very intrusive to speak once and for all of it. No, not about that, is exactly the opposite, if you know my old rebellious spirit with almost exact precision. Actually what I plan is to take the audacity to enter my last wishes regarding the form and the color of my death itself (or rather, my only wish on my last days, or at least my current wishes on my last few days only. .. or something).

Hopefully when I die is of old. That view of the silver color of my hair, and I am on a Thursday in hairdressing and manicure (good habits never leave). I heard singing the song of those who stir up the ice, one that makes me remember the good times. I will not be ready to leave without my purse; who knows if I meet contingencies path to paradise will not require my comb and my mascara or my handkerchief or one of my aspirinetas. That I have no immediate things to be resolved. It has fulfilled one of my many dreams. The meeting is at night so I would not remember the way back. Have the whole soul to continue to feel until the last day of my first life. Not require me to keep quiet, I know that my verbal incontinence could not stand it. Let me take with me my brightest treasure: my memories. That is serene.

Death is like an exile. It separates the person on earth where you live, it is removed from their homeland. It robs the person of your belongings, you are given new ones. He removed the person's name, it implements the policy. It prohibits a person who is dismissed. It's like a land bridge imperfect people into heaven as eternal as God. It is a black hole in the world entering a perfect, huge, better, which may be the Botanical Garden but no ants or the Library of the Ministry of Education but Mrs. indifferent to the entry or the Church of Our Lady of Peace on Easter Sunday or Patron, or maybe my grandmother's house as he saw it as a child. Death is all that holds zero.

Now and I am beyond myself and my fears, detached from my body, I realize clearly that life is the best I know. Explore your limits have not been closer to death but to reaffirm the desire to conquer my story. Talk openly about it is like looking into space with the accurate intuition that I do it out of curiosity than the intention of experiencing. Discovering that are full of surprises infinite second encourages me to leave the text and prepare to be serious. The preceding lines have performed this, then, as night: The latter, however, will dawn, ending the trial and start in life.

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Dawn City portrait

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A

* Photo today while watching the world from my balcony

"I was happy, though in a dream" (EA Poe)

I was happy that afternoon storms raging at that time stopped. While color silhouettes fled to the shelter saw your face staring rain, wind wrapping your hands, and finally I felt protected. I knew then again, as if for the first time, that beyond my physical existence is a tiny universe of dawn waiting to be discovered, created just for me in your image and likeness. And I learned that you are as real as a dream.

At the top of my world was happy. Scream in silence because the memory of seeing the eternal in the lush and perfect of nature renews my wide smile, which adds petals in every miracle I know. Path and my steps are following your footsteps proud because, although they often forget, you're the target. I never tire of thank you for the opportunity to sail to drift gently in ofrendarte my love pure and true even in error. You're powerful: the past and the future, wise words, the more intense feelings, the principles, the end, the songs more harmonious, more unexpected plans, the most precious. So immense and so close, so vast and so close. I trust in you. As you rest. So I learned that you are as bright as the sun.

when one morning I was happy to talk privately felt that we approached, I could mourn without anyone else that you see me. Today I give you my word as though they were written over a month, yet I do not feel the ashes. I way to your meeting. I way to you. I owe my life.

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God I present the love of my life ... Truth coupled

my library shelves;)

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Before reading, GO ACA Y UNLOAD AN AUDIO. ONCE YOU HAVE AND CONTINUE TO LISTEN WHILE READING.

Experiences. 2008.
A PHOTO AND INFORMATION
Florence Lagar

The work is presented in a virtual environment and, therefore, variable.

initially sees a picture that corresponds to the image I at this very moment I write I am watching it is here where the volume, leaving a moment to write but seconds after returning to the activity. Original measurements are 1024x168, but you will see it reduced to a scale that allows them to examine it while reading this text. You can clearly see the desktop of my home computer session, which has a floral pattern in various shades of pink, light green leaves. The weight of the image is 113 kbs. The taskbar is deep blue and measures 1 cm.

My project here is just beginning, as the second element is the body of the text you are reading right now and I write as I think. I have forbidden the task of erasing any characters you have written to reach you with no filter correction or reflection. So you may find some fault or error tiepeo; to avoid it, I mark the keys on my keyboard at a speed of 2 or at most 3 letters per second.

The third component is a sound bar that gives the author's voice with this message. Clarity that is recorded in the same time I write it.

The work completed by the context in which it is read) (so variable). It includes the shape, color and size of their monitors, as well as the chair you are sitting, light, air, and the environment in general.

consistency is thus exposed accuracy and completeness of the same reality. Arguably then, that there is redundancy of information overload that causes the dissociation of which is attached.



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PD. The sound is unclear because the microphone was too close to the keyboard, I apologize but to have repeated, and the experience has lost its original purpose. Also heard the noise of the train I do not know if I told you once, but I live very close to the station and 3 minutes each one sounds average. Finally, I apologize for my voice asleep, but yesterday and today I went up early.

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What will walk by now ...

* photo of my bedside table light in

What will walk by now. Weaving lies with the same hands with that runs through the skin of another. Modifying the lines of mine with your permanent absence. Appearing without that I can calculate it, turning depreciating the world and more and more my self-esteem. Leaving a sour taste in my mouth without touching or even if any ever played.

pareciéndote unknowingly'll be Dorian Gray (and some told me that summer night was your favorite book, but always suspected it was an exaggeration to captivate me.) Letting the time the smell permeates your back. Allowing you to invent an image so different from yourself, so comfortable, so normal, so your feigned functional structures. Hiding in your uniform to show no scars. Closing his eyes to look at your dead. Saving people's lives without noticing that you're losing yours. Thinking you eternal. Living without me.

will spend the days feeling happy or just different. You will not remember or my face or my name or my longings and sleeping even share with you life. You will look forward. Playing another round. Making strategies. Vowing to win again. Knowing that ultimately you're the only one who loses, and nothing less than time. Standing still while you against rust flowers. Sitting at the whim and not seated in love. Millimeter by millimeter plundering the confidence of her body and material existence so many others ignore. Forgetting.

And I trying to draw illusions where gaps and chasms. Testing the bland taste of chosen solitude. Trying to do something with all this love that has no owner but will always be a bit yours. By becoming a piece of paper with a heart so you can feel (you told me yourself that no longer had and there was nothing in place). Giving me another reason to surf the oceans as or deeper than yours. Remembering without malice or recored. Wondering who will walk by now.

Pd. Can anyone explain to me how after more than two years, so many men and many sins conceived and given birth, I still think of him? Another nostalgic February 14.

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the other (section II)


That afternoon nothing had happened that made me suspect that something would happen (except for very exceptional for something to happen). No maps or walking routes, a habit that I stole from the wise and enjoy repeat, as if doing my ritual stop being me, transcend my experience and my life and become part of the heterogeneous texture that is the rite itself, joining and through the amalgamation of time and space to those who admire and study. This is a fun children's game, almost metaphysical, whose partner is the very future.

The truth is that I had crossed the threshold of the unknown when I saw it. Minutes before I began to feel dizzy, but did not know (or not wanted, it depends what school of thought to analyze the case) to notice that it was his presence that was hidden among the weeds and shadows of the city. I turned on myself once, twice, three times, trying to verify that indeed it was me who marked their high-heeled sandals that path it was traveling. I looked and looked at her, walking with other shoes and walked to another street, but it was still me. I thought it was a dream and I thought it was a dream to think that was enough to wake up, stop dreaming and stop dreaming about it to her, but nothing happened. Mentally counted to ten, maybe my reflexes were also asleep. I gave the order to wake up, among desperate and frightened, beginning to consider possible horrible idea that was true. I saw her, and unwittingly I also saw it. I was, certainly, but younger, cleaner, whiter, I was long ago. Less noisy walking paths, those that constantly retraced to high school (although others would not notice the difference.) Her hair was strictly bound, a prisoner of his manners and good education, their national flag for best average of his early literary habits and future academic sealed and stamped by herself. He moved with certainty. I looked at her but she did not see me, do not know if it even know he had a slight nearsightedness for several years because all the energy of his eyes was addressed, without pettiness or distraction, the book he had in his hands. I walked and read so quiet that bothered me. Seemed impermeable.

I let go. I had no courage to approach, I think it would have disappointed me. I was, however, thinking about it (thinking, of course, of myself). Although she would reject who I am today, so I do not know I was wrong. I imagine arguing with lengthy soliloquies and a strong case the ineffable that is your life (my life before) and wandering is my (yours, even if not recognized). I'm the same, and I'm ready for her to reconcile with me if I have to give up their convictions sterile and useless theories. ME. I kept walking, tangling and disarming with the thread in my hands the great ball that is my life. Because first of all, it's mine. Because I accept that I had to be her to be who I am, and I recognize that in its earliness and maturity always admired. Because I love her, but I have to love me more myself. Because the past and present are, after all, one thing. Because I want to meet with lights and shadows, nuances, details, but mostly and more than that, I LIVE IT. And that I am about to do while reading (I am, of course) to an adult child who does not know how in the world but without seeing the sidewalk walking, reading, walking sure where. And I close my eyes and let myself go back to the future, the only place that I still have to conquer.

* Photo taken from the sample VE, AND GO BACK is at present at the Alliance Francaise, Av Córdoba 946, Capital Federal.

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The other (Part I)

self-referential adaptation of "The Other" by JL Borges.

That autumn afternoon I can remember only embraces a piece, a piece of torn fabric that represents my life. And as a single serving of providential moment I have experienced great results insufficient to account for itself the significance of the event, today I decide to transcribe and-miss accuracy but what is even more important, makes sense. Because I still do not understand what made the whole cosmos conspired against my certainties and assurances just that day, at that time, in that exact place. A second of difference would have been enough to break forever the coordinates of the experience. A single flap of a single pigeon had reached to turn the tide of invisible but definite thread my eyes. A single, tiny thing. But no, nothing happened there, because all know (unless I completely ignored it) that something was to come uppermost. All coincidences and circumstances of the world know the ancient pact that inhibit intervene here only for the divine. All elements of the transparent context were prepared to operate as utility giant's most perfect work that has been designed. All condensed matter in this environment that was shortly describe the wonders of the unexplored universe. They do not know yet what I know. And it is this that then I am about to discuss.

(MISSING PART II)
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R NOTE: promise to upload soon the two paragraphs missing, but is that but my entries are too long and even I was really bored, haha. But for now I ask, what / s was / were your / s time / s angel, fantastic, wonderful? But these important where one falls off the horse and start seeing everything differently, eh? I do not expect less from you! hehe. Now: A besote! :)