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Yesterday an angel wanted to rule the silence,
discovered that everything had changed.
tried to silence me into tears,
perhaps jealous of his hands, his eyes, his touch.

Nothing will change the past;
those days did not matter much,
or maybe his voice is the one who makes it look so distant. Who
me missteps. Today

again invade the tedium
to know that she is not with me. It will call into oblivion

before causing more damage.

Note: when I use the word tedium do with its third meaning, now obsolete "great regret."

I could not help, why should I change if things are so? Mine arethese corny, it gives me better.

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na heterosexual boyfriend once suggested something to me and ordered me to destroy me, a married woman older than me, a woman much older than me dealing with many women whose heart but for some reason I did not. And no use complaining much, unless it is intended to be bitter at my mother and the friend who accompanied me a few hours today. So yes, my feelings are of little use.

But it has not ended there. There is someone who not imagine how I feel. And what I feel is fear because I like to be able to be part of his life, he has suffered in the same amount that I, though in different ways. But it is so graceful, so perfect, so feminine, so all that I have not got to be (she) fails to see me morea simple support not really know why. And another person who is supposed to know that one day I liked it, but knows that beyond every time I see (the truth is that has been what has caused me goodness, but today was not good day to discover how things were.) We return to the only person who really deserves to lose a bit of time trying to make her feel better. Ella. That person is not going to read me. That is not going to leave your comments and we may never know that one day I felt something for her. Is it worth the silence? Is it worth the silence of this woman, Daphne, and Erato, of Clio, for all that in the last two years have occupied a special place in my life?

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TMLXC

Kavafis Konstantinos was born in Alexandria on April 29, 1863. Like many others, did not find the recognition it deserved until after his death 70 years later, grown into one of the best modern Greek poets and a few years later, an icon of gay culture, what remedy. Influenced by

Parnassianism and symbolism, Cavafy submitted their creations (or erotic historical theme) to a continuous process of review and refinement. He managed to convey in their writings the Human failings, fears and guilt.
The English Luis Cernuda was influenced by his poetry.

Apoleipei



At midnight, when suddenly you hear an invisible procession passing accompanied by exquisite music and voices do not regret -in vain-the kind that lose: your jobs lost, your plans
ended with desire.
As he expected, with courage.
say goodbye, to Alexandria, away.
not be fooled, do not say it's a dream.
your ear wrong.
not be fooled into false hopes.
As he expected, with courage,
as befits someone who deserved
a city like this,
steadily
get close to the window and listen with deep emotion,
without regrets, without pleading cowards, as a last
pleasure sounds.
those wonderful instruments of this secret procession
and say goodbye to Alexandria and lose.


Adapted from Wikipedia
.

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when I had to think clearly.
"Stay away or force me to shoot you in the front, and it will not hurt more than it hurts me to see what you've become."


a popping sound was heard and decided. Killed the love of his life to not see how he slept with the lowest on behalf of misery.

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my arms trying to escape, attempt
die in yours.

I have not achieved, the service pulls too. Upgrade to leave here something I wrote several days ago. I promise to write soon, maybe the next two entries are two surprises, and I hope that he will touch on each case, are welcome. (And for all of you, would be an honor to be so.)


I see smiles drawn across the sky that covers the sea, looking out the window
.
Along the sky I see your smile hidden in the night.
moonless night. Night
star whose only imagined your smile.
And an angel is coming, I can not see.
I can not see your hands if you still remember your body. Contin
or imagining. Waste
remind me why you're not with me, and I think
write these verses.
rhyming verses which symbolizes the time that I stopped loving you.
The wind calls your name,
makes it a fragile memory.
The rain does not fall, is absent on this night ours
but a gray dawn speak your name,
pass into oblivion.
I know my destiny is to love you the same way, love, love the sea and sky. I think
create you from my verses,
really do not know if they were created from your existence.
rhyming verses which symbolizes the time that I forgot your name.

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Candombe, I hope. Among missed calls and letters, even if this appears cold, and it is, is nothing less and I know less than formally thank that I have wanted.
I will miss reading the blogs of a man from Madrid, a man from Sevilla, a Basque lady repressed and frigid like all Basque but with charm and two girls, one of Catalonia do not know if I will read or withdrawn will be unable to leave me comments and other do not know if the same source or only sympathizer.
not think about the things that have haunted me these past three days, not if people do not deserve my attention. For that I have the extreme music, so much hate and show some hate. I hope to bring

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I am facing the end of the morning with this thought tormented
.

good thing have had literature classes after all this time. Enormous feats of divination of my teacher. Pity

name, a great poet, a great poem that reminds me of you, you know who you are.


looking for you Forgive me for going so clumsily
within
you. Forgive
pain sometime.

I just want to take away your best you.
That you do not dress and I see,
swimmer for your background, precious. And

and have it catch me at the top as you light the tree
last
he found the sun. And then you

would come looking for him at the top.

To get to rise above you as you want, and just playing
your past
with the balls of your feet,
in tension throughout the body, and you climb
yourself.

(SALINAS, Pedro; The voice you due )

You know how he knows the silence. You know the night as you know every inch of my hands, but have not seen. Know what they wrote and it is as if he knew everything. You know how he knows the silence. And the silence knows how much I love you.

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Sola and once again you're always trying to forget
.

After some requests happened to summarize the most important events of the end of year trip to Italy. There have been some good, some less good and more plentiful, harmful things. Now I'm home I feel all pretty funny, but anyway, has been a journey that will remain etched in my memory as an example of what has never repeated again.

DAY 1 .- We arrived at night to go to school buses. The first thing that happens is that both me and Andrea (the name because it will be a factor quite repeated throughout the trip) we have to leave the bus marginadísimas of thugs chuar a fucking toilet my mood was summed up grrr and smashed my knuckles
while the rest went to eat. We arrived at the hotel and was only recently that we had to sleep with two of the thugs of the bus because among our "friends" and the thugs we had gone to stay off the lot, saved us teachers, it is seen that the face of comeniños help to try to prevent me from killing the roommates mushroom (mushroom). Cojonudísima room, though.
DAY 2 .- Except for the breakfast, I confirm that Rome is a putísima shit. We visited a ruined Coliseum and turned into an almost theme park and fora with homophobic and sexist guide. I e
No suicide . After lunch the teacher-guide will drop when crossing a traffic light, make half pick up group from the rest, pass through the lining of the balls and the scheduling of visits made by themselves with a few only two visits I was interested to see Rome. Andrea and I, along with another boy, we are dedicated to see Rome. At night I discovered how bad it was the bottle of Sambuca that occurred to me to buy (due to WhiteFang brands) and that being vegetarian is a big drawback.
DAY 3 .- Remarkable as unsettling was the choice of site on eating along with the joy of seeing the beautiful girl who was a waitress at the restaurant we went to crappy food. Alsoucha in the center of the toilet with a hole in the ground.
another mention here. That afternoon I saw one of the prettiest girls I've seen in my life. He had a pink shirt, but anyway, this girl was not normal, was an angel. What a beautiful (smiley face).

DAY 5 .- Mosque monumental evening dragged through times that were Cojonudos because we could not see anything interesting because of the queues (grrr
later), but was offset by that day I had the best meal of my life that I remember, the site was cheap and very elegant. Elegant my way clear, sober and such. I had lunch with wine, I always wanted to do, the food was perfect (pizza and such, very good) and with whom the company was REALLY. This was one of the best days because everything was beautiful (too beautiful), and as Andrea and I decided to spend the rest of the group I had no mosqueo (a universal law is that Venice is impossible to get angry and behave vulgar). What happens to this city is that famosetes sites as the bridge of sighs and others, among which are crowded and is no wonder that the city do not seem okay, but then you go a little to your ball and you see beautiful things that are not overly packed with tourists and where it seems you're in a cloud of cotton in the style of my most corny poems. We saw a very majete museum, I missed one person and had to invite me to eat because I ran out of money I had brought. (So

Dog Friendly Ski Resorts Ny I do not know if I feel in my arms

Needless people around me if you're not,
nothing makes sense if I can not love.

Before I write about what has been a disappointing end of year trip, I will write one of the few good things that have had: the moments of solitude before a role.


(April 22, 2006. Rome)

may want to feel my arms and in the meantime
want to kiss your lips
seeing the vastness of the sky
and knowing that our love was eternal.

Time being witness to my acts
and you this time of lethargy, but open your eyes
a May morning
and feel at once that we were something. Perhaps


charm never had no feelings towards something.
But if a beautiful explain to me why it was bitter.
Tell me why, why I still love you?


(April 24, 2006. Venice)

Nothing in the dark. There are no stars
but the light still represents you,
feel as if they could see between my hopes
discard.

Nothing in the sea. Without you there is still beauty
and waves for you dance;
walk with your back
dream proving how much you love them.

Nothing in silence. There is no noise.
already without feeling contempt for life
I can go by lying under
and dream that one day you will be mine.

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Not to harass me I write again, but it has nothing to say. And at this point I'm still thinking what the hell this makes me hate all rational human beings around, making it quite difficult social relations. Not that I mind too much, really.

would not hurt to devote a paragraph to the victims. But not the victims normally have all my respect, but the victims no reason to be. To all those victims that under that mask all happen to me, how bad is the world , conceal a person for whom it is not worth even this paragraph I'm writing. Nor do I deserve to feel disgust towards them, but fortunately or unfortunately life and I have pince a number in front of me and I can not do anything to remove them and shoot it to get right and left is frowned upon. But what good would they do to society if they were ...

despicable beings in stark contrast to other people who make this life a little more enjoyable. It is a pity that they are the least, but hey, one is saved. And some, if not the exact number, which is also very bad to say.

Is my land? My land is you. My people? My people are you. Exile and death for me are where you're not. And my life? Tell me, my life, what is, if not you?

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virgin still seems
tonight that did not stop being beautiful.

Exhaustion takes over the weight of my eyelids and the night closes to me. Short verses dedicated to a woman whose description does not move away from the unreal, unattainable, with eternal residence in my dreams, knowing that talk of eternity is a trifle.

(April 4, 2006)

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crystal stream of always unsettling murmur,
reflection of what little time there has been
expectantly. Imprisoned

a look,
my imagination flow.
and resuscitate your lips
showing my folly. DNR

one morning and not believe that those dreams thesoul is dead, and find that happiness will not fade a dawn that is yet to come. Anonymous image whose strength fades in the distance, fuzzy features of a past that let him go, or perhaps never came, and also part of the inconsistency that clouds my thoughts. Poetry for the gift of a moment that is immortalized. Poetry to die in your arms, but never get to look at them.

Without any courage or spirit. And no one

scratching, I'm perfectly and we know it. Are only a few verses written on paper and accompanying text, any resemblance to real life (with my current state) is purely coincidental.

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Between shadows, back to the past;
shadows, desperate.

I dedicate this post to a lady and will avoid long descriptions. Just the subject treated is common, and preferred to make clear the source that has made this update so that this is not a blatant intertextualization. The credit is yours, since otherwise it would not have occurred to me start thinking.

When choosing a political representative, what motivation drives us to it? For some it will be political conviction whose roots are generations ago, no doubt. For others will some promises that they can make you feel more relaxed while watching the news sitting on a comfortable couch (althoughas we all know, the sofa has applications far more placid than that). I, however, prefer to stay with the motivation of profit . And this is extended to our dear representatives. Already in

Republicans had in mind the ( preposterous? ) distinction between President and Head of Government. The first with total representative value. The same representative value having our beloved King Juan Carlos.

I do not doubt that back in the seventeenth century to have a king who hid his face with the problems it had its minimum value, because it's not like they were the host bicycle. Today I think even that. What does the king? This ... ah, I think when you have to do

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and be for the misery, cot.
And sorry if I blame for my troubles. I cornered the evils of my lies;
swore never again to lose between angels. I was never
place of infinite beauty;
am not worthy of your eyes immortal.

would find not even dream of my innocence.
wish I had something valuable to offer;
maybe that work is my preference. And I give you discover sunlight; would not condemn the impropriety.