1. It is true that in this country throws a bottle into the air and falls to a poet. What is not is cool is that instead of being shot bottle.
If the building where I work is coming down inexplicably, newspapers comment: die 2 000 clerks. If
the office building that you appreciate the writer is coming down, the newspapers say: die writer "guy" and 2 000 people.
not I have to underline the fact that too many human beings on this planet. The species is composed mostly of poor who are still alive in the morning by natural art of magic. I'm not saying that the killings that have tamed this country are a normal thing, I just think that throughout history there are people dying killed and that an environment is impossible to refuse, that is: here we lived. We could have been born, do not know, in middle age. Always be born in a poor country and time, always.
But there are a shitload of people that are unnecessary. There are people with honest passion. Whether a woman who makes the best Chilindrina the planet or a subject obsessed with translating an untranslatable phrase or a line judge to dial correctly provided the incorrect positions. There are people.
his son killed him a poet. And he decided to quit in protest poetry. I emphasize: never write poetry again.
bastard is that because we are in months that the lady of the Chilindrina also let the person preparing or thrown into the flames their dictionaries or arbitrator the water in a fundamental decision.
How to fix things? With mega gears: no. Avatars putting our facebooks stating a general glut: Obviously not. Doing poetry? anything, I ... is likely. So it is painful the decision taken by Javier Sicilia.
Saturday Kikin Fonseca got goal and celebrated like this: his teammates were shooting off the bench with his hands he received the gun and bullets rattling type giving Santino Corleone. This celebration is both a collective delusion and a horrific metaphor for the clear and buttery resilience that we have Mexicans. Speaking of our nation, says Pepe Vasconcelos when you look at the most humble and hurt by the singing revolution poems Gutiérrez Nájera (if I remember correctly): "Mexico will be saved in spite of everything."
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