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The last page

This is the last page of the notebook, and I want to leave my thanks for letting me into their lives during these few years. I appreciate the opinions, disagreements, books sent to me, my account e-mail, phone calls! Closing this space, but not the virtual abandonment. Are always things to say, and even then could tie me to a site, a process ... I would think that I have left some trace, some incentive to be wary of the rhetoric and posturing ... We will continue talking, discussing elsewhere. I close my notebook, turn off the light, I return to the path ...
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dumb dogs

... and also commissioned for the rover to penetrate the interior, Rodrigo de Jerez and Luis de Torres, who returned six days after the country wondering who had just done. (Pedro Santacilia)

What better refuge: the memory or the landscape? Both perceived distress, so much loss around us that we do not know what passages to retrace back to the starting point. A labyrinthine museum, visitors can not perceive the combination, the tables were no longer to become reference material dreams. Each one weighs his banishment to the scales, strange balance between benefit and shrinkage. How

We won well, looking over her shoulder, believing that we still seek and sustains us something from the past?

spoken speech memory as irrefutable matrix. The site where we were born we impose a vindictive course: our graves must be Hospice murmuring that which we owe the lineage. Just want to vouch for us lighting our death, returned to the clan tradition and changed into a shroud. Returning home we close the circle.

memory are called upon to resist the attacks of that picture. Dreams, pictures, charms. Banished all know redeemed himself by polishing the image that keeps other invulnerability.

memory is better than earth, the attempt to capture its pulse, the weaker the further away from home. We left the cool of the garden fictional, not real fruits or unexpected breaks. The exile feels and evokes the smells of the island, grass and mud, the rain hitting the dust, the fumes spread dark wind. No landscape accommodates

who is comparing what he has with what he learned to withdraw from that list the differences. Each day that passes more disguise ends the schoolyard tree, the tree is transformed into plant concept in mass of unreality that does not serve the purpose of the caregiver. And its fruits, for untouchables, rot.

The old maps are again recognizable. This I know who studies the haze of the picture, who replaced the modern names and original names, always better. When we look at the map of the island, drawn by unsafe hands, we imagine that shaded day, three days of moving into the heart of Zipangu, vegetation covered unfathomable that both intruders and natural.

The tattered map could replace the return trip that we conceive. A trip that we did not return useless white beaches, quiet streams, dumb dogs. And the knowledge gained from that landscape and memory, represented in the brilliance of parchment, vehemently circular supplement.
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The price of words

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The teacher leaves instructions that his school does not succumb to hypnotic songs sedition

Now they are picking up the networks, not too late,
and counting the empty tin fishing took fortunate
with certainty that any load serves the pleasure of God, I will
warn, Marcial, before you put a painstaking halarlas Sumarto
and get to the chorus, with that voice of yours that desafinaría
up worksongs compounds to accelerate triremes and pyramids. I warn you the recipe
they just lay on your bed,
and ingredients which will improve your vocal combination
to claim a lunetario make to yourself, who squawked
from the battlements to warn of the ram: that mimic
of resonances not even provided by nature, whose credulity
providentially remained deaf, and others: obtuse.

You, Benedict entrusted you a little more introspection
to resolve the usual hesitation to your classmates, which can be
formidable opponents if you do not show strength and passion, whether to follow them
or disappoint.
The domain of logic would save you some generalities
and you may at last justify your appetite so blunt.
could sound credible when he said: "I could care less."
not tremble when your voice will declare: "I assert the contrary."
and burn candles in my memory, without the ritual requires,
to thank my insistence.

I want when I'm gone, Justin, your gentleness
not become slavery, and feel able to dismiss the Cenacle
bland to invite you every week,
which worships the scarecrow as a solitary figure against
ambush the world, and where the initiates are vested with nicknames
whites, not speaking a word of that language
is not as attentive to any suitor.
I would be proud of your rebuttal, and that when seeking to disguise their poverty
, do not miss among those pointing
your name and condemnation in letters of fire.

Now you hear laughing voices among the vines,
and still counting collectors, hopeful and loving, you might as well
, Valerio, move out of a clear field and find comfort
where you get your flock without the reed will shake
between finger, to suspect that every sympathy is a trap that will snatch
song ever serene sunset.
Fear not spit the remains of the fruit they thought
pay you and not waste time explaining: to stay
and writhing rhythms, choke on luscious clusters from
and leave you in peace, without reproach.

I would not, true Albio, your insight is
hindrance between nations or your tongue will come forward to epigram:
will already have their punishment, if his present state is not constituted.
Let them speak and write until it is fed up, and pile up on their shelves
stationery to be his own children who end mudándoles
the court further: the Basement. Beware
of literary divas, midwives plump flabby
displaying their humanity behind black lace;
is making fun of the rhetoricians, whether Nubians or Teutons,
because someone has to entertain or find profit;
not alarmed at the branch, which I despise and fear at a time, always
short of arguments against your irony, subtle and accurate.

Habré take advantage of the indulgence that fosters all
agony and beg, just this once, to keep away from the path of fools,
that let it pass if necessary, so as not to give them visibility;
hypnotic songs that you are deaf, and cultural prostitutes fail to soften
your hearts.
And most of these appeals, the privilege of a job ends here, ask your compassion
end, if the time came to hate
prayers and penance, and seek relief or a supreme miracle,
I pray, my children, not make me return.
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