Basket Ball Face Mask

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* 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.