Solid Black Sleeve Tattoo Australia

Passenger in trance (2005)


always remember a schoolmate, the first day of classes in April, I had the summer skiing in the mountains of Chile. I remember the stories of my first cousins, whose parents had more money than mine, recounting his travels through European cities. Once asked my father if he could go travel and the answer was that there was enough money. I'm not complaining about my childhood. It had more amenities than the Peruvian environment and my holidays were sweet next to the river of the small farm of my grandparents and the cold sea off the coast of Arequipa, between the farmers and country style marisqueadores, relatives of my mother. But what lay beyond the borders of my country? That was my big question.

In 1987 my father started to do more independent work, extra money to his meager salary of a bank clerk and suddenly there was money to "The Journey". The whole family, all five. No plane as I had my friends from school if bus. We would go to Buenos Aires, to visit his good friend and godmother to my mom. Taking it to his goddaughter, the redhead Carolina, who at age 11 would keep forever the memory of an idyllic family trip to the shores of Mar del Plata.

My mother remembers better than me the joy of my first foray into foreign lands. We crossed the desert in a bus to Santiago Fleet Barrios, listening Soda Stereo was the top band. We crossed the Andes with an old driver mendocino, shocked to hear us say "We are entering the land of rock." My father had to bribe the ticket seller from the railway station to get five tickets on a train from Mendoza to Buenos Aires which was almost empty. We live in the house of the midwife and went back on the bus, happy doing scales in Antofagasta, Iquique, to visit the then-thriving Free Zone, and Arica.

In 1992 I returned to make the journey by land to Buenos Aires but kept me long to Rio de Janeiro. I was told by phone the death of my grandfather, a memory that always accompanies my shocking discovery of the thongs of Copacabana and pre carnival party night at a nightclub in Ipanema. In a bus of Paraná to Rio Grande, I met a blonde breasts I taught relentless give pleasure to a woman keeping complete silence. I learned Portuguese on the coast of Sao Paulo and Florianopolis beaches and spent three rolls of pictures dazzled by the Iguazu Falls. Ash Wednesday I went with some friends at a beach near Porto Alegre, on foot crossed the border with Paraguay and went back to my country in a bus in the afternoon, with a stopover in Chile to compare the waves of Viña del Mar with memories of my first visit.

In 1993 I made the same trip to Brazil, this time crossing the Bolivian countryside, facing the desperate passivity of the peasants of Desaguadero, gross silence I refused paceños a clean bathroom, the southern climate and tropical Cochabamba and Santa Cruz pop. The bullet train bullet Bolivian-anything-that gave me the best memories of the Pantanal of Brazil, leaning them on the edge of a car door, next to what would become my best travel companion, Rock Ross-alias -Diaz.

I found it on the platform of the train station of Santa Cruz and travel together to Sao Paulo where we met a Brazilian who started the adventure to England and India. I missed a few days in Curitiba Europeanized; returned to Iguazu and Buenos Aires suffocating before returning in Orme-supply- Go to Lima.

In 1995, Peru was at war with Ecuador and destroyed a well-planned expedition to Bogotá. Rossana convinced me to go with her to Santiago. We took the train south to the island of Chiloé, bathing in icy beaches of all the large towns of Valdivia Castro. In my memory, the memory remains magnificent Osorno volcano and the wind of the stretch by boat to the landing of Ancud.

returned to Santiago for a concert by the Rolling Stones, for the first time in its 25 year history in South America rested his feet. After the Rolling Stones, Ross learned to live with in 15 days backpacking adventure on the roads, pulling finger to Buenos Aires and back to Lima, surviving on $ 40 in his pockets. The list goes on trucks, cars and trucks that took pity on the Argentina-looking Peruvian rock, asking the jalaran the edge of the recently privatized Argentine roads. We slept in a fire station in a village near Luján, in the chairs of the Tocopilla police station in a whorehouse provided in San Martin, and hippie on a mattress under the apocalyptic sound of a hailstorm on the outskirts of San Luis .

In 1996 I went to the north. A video of Mano Negra rekindled the desire to know Colombia. Months earlier he had met in Lima to the lead singer of Los Aterciopelados and I was giddy with the account of Rock Park, which was performed every year in Bogotá. That was the pretext. With 180 precious dollars in a fruitful time of unemployment, took a direct bus to Tumbes and then I managed to cross to reach Ipiales Ecuador and Colombia. On the bus from the border to Quito, a gracious hostess majestic brown butt handed to me around midnight. There were three intense hours on the last bus seat, peered through the curtains as an endless landscape of banana plantations.

In Bogota, as well as fill my head with Colombian band names, I fell in love with a woman who said bring in Villavicencio the stomach was voracious from very young. I remember his body barely covered with tiny white thong, walking in the shadows of a room facing the Plaza del Chorro de Quevedo in La Candelaria. There I also met the Divine, a language surfer straight hair and long beard, bursting with the same peace that once caught me in Lima the youngest son of Bob Marley. The Divine walked always flanked by two priests, two angelic face big woman who followed him through the streets of downtown, around Carrera 13, pleading for donations for the fund's cheerleading Divine and bottles of wine with which it entertained me, he and their friends in an almost intimate salsódromo a tiny house near the Jimenez called Pleasure. Always returns to mind the graffiti scrawled in large letters phosphorescent paint on the bathroom sink: "The country is collapsing and we ... to party."

Upon returning to Lima, Cuzco and three trips to an intense but unrequited love, those who transform everything into ashes, I traveled to Europe.

then I had gotten three jobs that gave me slack economic and prepared to meet board trains European geography in my first vacation in 30 days. It was 1999 and already beginning to receive in the country's economy a rotten smell coming from Asia. I was almost certain that this would be my last opportunity to tour Europe and know everything I planned. From Paris to Bordeaux, to make love with a French Doucement fiery poet smile, next to a thriving farm pigs and ducks on the narrow mattress and a quarter of students on campus, listening to the guitar away Roma, and then to Italy: Rome, Florence, Naples, Sorrento, Pompeii and Venice in a week. Atravecé Switzerland Bern to Frankfurt in Germany and then to Spain, from Galicia to Barcelona and the final stop to take the plane back to Madrid. It left me wanting to go to Holland and England, but the visa process in Europe took more than a week. It was too much.

In 2000 I had another vacation for a month. The Asian crisis had contaminated everything and the economy was falling apart. All spoke of the dread of unemployment, which was compounded by political instability generated by the power struggles prior to the general election. One Saturday afternoon I decided to start my vacation with a photographer friend, driving my truck to Ecuador. Life was very cheap and very quiet. Met Guayaquil, Santo Domingo de los Colorados, Quito, the idyllic hostel Tongoyape, beaches and blue for a few hours Esmeralda Basin historic colonial appearance. I returned to Lima prepared to advise anyone who asked me to conduct one trip. I handled the last leg from Lima Pimentel to stopping occasionally to drink a coffee and a snack cake. I remember talking to the peasants in the restaurants of the road, saying they would vote for Fujimori, but without conviction. They began to receive between them the turmoil generated by the struggle between the political and economic powers that would eventually seize power Mr. dictator.

in Lima and had only one job and did not offer me the same as before. I guess my story is worse than the many stories of those who left the country. My boss was an unbearable and sickening type who cares nothing normal hours work. Monday through Saturday from 7:00 to 22:00. Sometimes more. I began to feel a sore back every morning is now associated with the onset of a stress attack. Projects that had offered to hire me in 1998 were all filed in the hope of better times. Decided to leave. The company owner, who appreciate the best of friends, I advised the same.

On July 10, 2000 I left Lima. My plan was to return to Europe, where my friend Ross had offered to build me a producer and get to work on film projects. As sometimes happens, that "project" was just that.

traveled with her and her husband around Galicia. After a month of idleness abuse, with little money, she suggested I go. I went to Lisbon backpacking, sleeping in streets, walking at night to save my money accommodation, or waiting at the door of the train stations to open in the morning sleeping in one of its wooden benches. At the exit of a theater in the historic center of Porto, where I was sleeping sitting on the edge of the sidewalk and leaning on my backpack, an elegant woman and covered with skins looked at me with contempt.

A trucker fat smile, I knew coming to Lisbon, I was offered a job as an assistant in a two-week trip to Nuremberg in Germany. Carrying under the canvas of a bulky cargo hopper corks for wine bottling French and a monumental train wheel aimed at the Siemens plant in Germany. Were 15 days of instruction for the orderly way highways of Portugal, Spain, France and Germany, drinking wine and fed Portuguese makeshift grills at the side of local roads, talking to other truckers lone earned their living on European roads.

Arriving on the outskirts of San Sebastian said goodbye to my friend hat. I spent a week in a house half an hour from the beach of La Concha, listening to the sea that burst against the iron of the Wind Comb, enjoying the weather of late summer and festive atmosphere of the famous film festival in the capital of the Basque Country.

Galicia Returning to a journalist who had met in my first month in Coruña, I offered to work as head of the page for film, television and events for La Opinion, a publishing venture that two weeks had no history and that it intended become the alternative to the almighty A Coruña La Voz de Galicia. I became very good friends there and I put together the money needed to continue travel.

when the time of my European visa (three months) I had two options. Or stay as illegal in Spain or go to London. My friend Ross, who had recently suffered all the vicissitudes of illegality, as I suggested. Her white skin had escaped the discrimination and racism of the police, but even so cruel experiences suffered in the hands of the immigration services.

So the day I turned 28, November 1, 2000, landed with a few dollars and a suitcase tired in Heathrow Airport. Friends La Opinión had fired me with endless glasses of champagne and two of them had taken the trouble to get my birthday in a bar in Santiago de Compostela airport before joining me.

the English in A Coruña I had mentioned how easy it was to work in London so I went there with that hope. I found it was relatively easy for Europeans, but the South Americans without work permits. My lean travel bag with which he thought to survive comfortably for at least the first month, sold out in less than two weeks. Just got a job to distribute magazines in a subway exit.

In a state of economic despair, were the visits to museums, free, and reading books in the library hall of London, which eased my pain a little.

I see even amazed by the exhibition of the Parthenon frieze, exposed in the famous museum of the British Empire. And I remember my discovery, almost by accident, the blast cabinet where, alone, is exposing the dark and hypnotic brilliance of the Rosetta Stone.

I left London, covered with yellow leaves, 27 November 2000. As if that was not enough my brief experience in London with the early northern hemisphere winter, the plane made a stopover in Iceland, that looked like a country finds buried in the snow. It was a cool fall night, and my plane landed, leaving me excited and broken at Kennedy Airport.

In September 2001 I first saw the smoke covering the city from a corner of Park Avenue and 34th Street, in 2002 I moved to Brooklyn and I shared my room with an amazing woman, reflecting the mix of nationalities in New York. It has three passports: European, Cuban and Israeli. A point of expiration of the term of stay of three months, Rachel got a job in the English department of the United Nations and is still there.

studied English for two years, finishing school to college Lehman in the Bronx, where I completed a minor in journalism. In 2004, just weeks before graduation, the dean offered me a job as a teacher. In late August this year 2005, after several months intensive reading and owner of a renewed love for the arts, I began my graduate studies in English literature.

been 17 years since I crossed the border to Arica and five years since I last saw the gray sky of Lima. And in recounting my travels and experiences bittersweet experience the feeling of knowing that there are still places I do not know and others who wish to return.

And yet I like to define my situation as a passenger in a trance, half-way, living in New York.

Pink Eye Plane Travel

In the jungle (story)


in the jungle sometimes you wake up under the bed and found a snake the size of an anaconda rondándote pins. I saw the eyes of a tarantula hanging over my bed, a few centimeters. Every day is different. Being honest, that's why I came: you can not get bored in the jungle.

Therein was the morning of October 25, 2___ year, writing on the computer, blowing the heat of the cabin, the only place where I could write you safe from mosquitoes. Last night the river rose and took my boots. Recoveries, began to dry. They were hanging from a vine in one corner. I went to get them, I thought I had lost my balance. All hut collapsed. That was the first earthquake.

woke up in a cave. Without memories, without boots, almost naked. Time calculated by the smell of my skin and the length of my nails. It was hot, my side had been a packet of sweets. Someone was feeding me, I thought. I found a jar with some water and drank. No one came that day, I waited. In the cave guarded preserves and biscuits. No one returned the next day, I explored the surroundings. I just found grass, I lost myself, I returned to the cave. That moonless night was a black spot in the jungle.

In the darkness I found the second earthquake. I managed to escape from the cave, without clothes, without food. Saved from being crushed by a tree. After verifying the destruction I started walking in the grass, a path cut by fallen trees. I found no one in my way. I saw spiders, snakes slithering in the distance. I remembered names of people who knew me Where were they? Nostalgia offers nothing as a valuable gift wrapped. It's a lonely path that one follows in the jungle. For some pain in the neck I knew I had been wounded. Someone was responsible for cure. Felt thanks to whom? In the jungle the hours pass like nothing. I climbed a tree and plucked fruit, I wanted to share my lunch. I in childhood. In a promotional trip to the edge of the universe. I had always wanted to come and live in the jungle. Hard to get bored with this heat.

a young man read a couple of stories of shipwrecks. They teach you to count the days by making marks on trees and trick the mind to keep her sanity. A good use of daylight and guarecerte of beasts and strangers taking advantage of darkness to attack. All that I applied in those days I wandered among the trees. I looked at the heights where they passed the leaves, and among them was slipping bits of blue sky. I became ill one evening and I could not move.

tore ate roots and soil. The rain forced me to go on living despite the pain. Evenings remembered the warmth of family and a dog's snout touching my hand. That comfort fled. That boredom escaped to get lost in the jungle. Midst of darkness, raved recalling some words of encouragement and one afternoon I finished a football game and I got sweaty clothes.

woke up next to a snake that crawled in the mud. I could feel the cold without touching your skin. Before nightfall I was better. I slept, I resisted the temptation to eat the earth, the next morning was able to move, I walked a few steps and found a fruit that served as breakfast. The first of my new life. At noon I knew it was imperative to make a choice: Follow path or camping. Settle down, make a home among those trees, near the anacondas and the river water. Or continue to travel: seek outlets in the woods, keep a journal and be a slave to him, traveling to fill the pages of facts and details. I reasoned I would need one day the grandchildren are supported on a pillow and listen to my stories. An inner voice told me to cough to continue walking, I gave instructions not to miss me. I decided to go traveling. I came to this forest to avoid boredom: I was getting.

During the third earthquake was naked up to his waist in water. I saw that moved through the jungle. However, the river was the route to the east, looking the sea. Some white fish with pink spots kissed my toes. In the bottom of the water found a coin. A hawk soared among the trees and another larger and aggressive bird jumped on him. Wallowed in the sky until it disappeared in the distance between the tops of the trees. A few hours later I realized that I had been a silent fight.

A cloud was shaped like a female. I like looking through a telescope by hand, so I stayed until the wind blew it apart. I camped by the river and the next morning, I started to follow.

You know what it tastes like wet soil? Neither knew how to converse with snakes, or stroke the water. The jungle taught me this. And I learned, with the desire to ever sit in front of a paper and write. In my dreams I was with beings who accompanied me to bed, tucked me in and gave me to eat before I go to work. I remembered a certain way to greet a good friend.

That was the engine of my departure. Scary vague idea that my doctor had awarded to knocks that made me lose consciousness after the first earthquake. My psychiatrist had been interested in medicine I took to be unconscious and temperature, which endured in the days of my walk. No day was boring, they were all different. I followed the path beside the river I saw ghosts. My wishes consoled with fresh water. I lost consciousness, regained it. Until

over the jungle. The river entered a marshy bay at the edge of a piece of asphalt, with a gazebo where couples once gathered to watch the treetops. A sign pointed to a broken door, put up by the roots and the leaves semitapada, the route he had to follow to reach the city. I walked for a few days, I could not recognize the input. I went into the city too late to see the smoke. Jumped a white ash soil when stepped on by marking the deep silence of my arrival. Tangled

Tetona Milena Velba Follando

I have to bring evil

like a ball in bed. His legs reflecting the intense light pink room. For the windows a sound which mixes horns and vocals that walk their bodies cold in December. A bar would have done the trick, but now I've found her. Are you going to say the following? Curls up beside me. I take pleasure in being calm and peaceful. "I know you have to bring me bad. In inches, in clouds of artificial respiration;)

I look at the past. Perceive details that until then had never troubled me, I had never crossed his mind to think of regret what? Did I do something better? He had it all planned. The world works as a perfect machine. Y control of that machine, I was.

yellowing newspapers next to the window. There is a stench of rat and moisture that keeps me awake. I have to do it, otherwise I'll just make me think. Thinking and thinking, imagining that I can call it, with this one. That I can weave and tangle again all this and that maybe. Claim you owe me favors, I demand that respect. Go crazy thinking about all the power that I lost. Plummet. Repentance? Something will help me to have been in a worse position than this. I've been hungry too. Have peed in my earlier. I can stand the stench of rats. Is that it has hardly been an hour and. I have to stop thinking. Allow time goes on. Imagine I am a normal guy, no power, no nothing.

I Got A Pedicure And Now Have An Infection

saw two deer in the parking lot of Knollwood. They looked lost. It rained, drops very thin, barely wet. Is filled with people.

a message saying that a picture is almost ready in the morning I was pleased. I have read all the TIME magazine while waiting out for dinner. Medialuz in a tent in the middle of a golf club. Silence of rain does not wet and yellow leaves covering the trail.

medioabierta door. 1010 Wins radio, snatches of the third party of the public Yankees.Sonidos in Philadelphia.

In the morning, half rainy Saw Mill, NPR listening, In the Media: A company California created the information you read millions of avid Internet users based on logarithms. Previously recruited editors who chose the topics of articles and headlines. Today the logs, much more accurate, they make this work.

blows a black Audi in the wet. Lubalin tells me his golf club is beautiful, and save a thousand dollars every month. Frances

me anonymous comments on my kisser in the phone. She laughs that laugh and takes me to holy sites. I have 36 today, tomorrow I'll have 37. Clock marks the hours.

Fisher Tennis Rackets

deer will have to skip them

The streets of Lima before dawn are off by fog. Is not much behind that blanket of fine water covering the concrete. Between their paths of quiet, I walked for the first time in the city after a long time.

Pass the first group, in light of their headlamps breaks through the haze, I stretch my hand and climb. Sleepy passengers seem to sense that seen differently, we must Extano load a black coat to her ankles. The driver does not like how I dress. The collector and I yell at me down. I beg to take me a few blocks away, I'm not going to cause delay. The throats of passengers join the bus driver. I cry that is not problematic. Saco under the above machine gun, machine-gunned. I alighted at the next corner and keep walking.

From the gardens of older homes, protected by high walls, barbed wire and electric fences, comes up to me a music of crickets. I do not know if the complaint because they feel imprisoned, although this time they have to have already found comfort in his piece of land in his lot with grass sandwich. That music brings back memories, makes me tremble with foreboding. "I'm sick. I have to see her, tell her how much I love, I think. Among the high-walled villages, with the music of crickets, keep walking.

Repainting Ski Helmet

The hills

around the capital as siblings or as sentries. Climb up the mountains and desert margins write. They have no other mountains green but more life goodbye and more death.

Does our vultures have not been fed their dust? In these hills of sand stale, saw thousands of men have built their huts to protect their belongings and started a new life of delicious promises.

Many must have been consumed by hunger that devours the city hope. However, others have deciphered the secrets of his silence, of peace with the wind blowing adorns the evenings when peaceful on its dryness.

From there you can see the sea as well. No small thing. Lima imagine that boy bursting with grass and blue sky, discovering the desert and the vastness of océano.Buscando among those hills surrounding the capital, the power to transform the universe.

Among those brothers that surround it, you'll find magic.

Mini Fridge / Monster

never looked that way to the Cathedral. I think his physical misunderstood lush and concentrated too much on the content. In the darkness between the walls and the altar.

I never looked closely at the tips that cut through the haze of August or in their campaigns that connected all those who witnessed the atrocities that were committed against her.

pious tyrants ever we had, crossed themselves and stood looking at architecture. And his evil thoughts were swept by the ringing of their centuries boring.

I never noticed, until now, frightened by this novel, the threats raised their points against the sky. The unequal battle against the drizzle which had fought the Cathedral of Lima, colonial flower. Hey

No Marks Cream Does It Work

Cathedral

the slow agony of the Ripper
Pay attention to the sweet solace of the girls that soban
memories from the books.
not stop flying on ropes in avocados
main condiment made of money
limos outside.

not review the past hurts to Monday
or animal fables entertain
Vikings Do not cheat in business with the Eskimos
and sleep well, relentlessly. Escape

once a day and lifts
the soles of the feet, smell the earth from shops
bitter.
drew not the sword if you do not know what to cut.

Leave the water running to wash the arugula
earlier this month and takes her out to the innocent
the son of all the children
Lose yourself in the hallway outside crime
Find a hobby
speak French.

How Can You Fix A Swollen Liver?

Rules

a child humming, like everyone, this song about the passengers in a trance. Airports I was fascinated by their ability to become ticket to the afterlife. But he was ignorant at airports. The shortage of money I had become a frequent visitor to his relatives poor: the bus stations. He had been waiting on them, despairing of them, sleeping in them.

go away. That was the biggest possibility of travelers. Escape the responsibilities and relatives. Prove he was a rebel, that life was written in protest songs. So I got on a bus for the first time. And there I swore that traveling, I wanted to die.

Why do you travel so much? I once asked a woman in a bikini. Almost concubinage was offering me happy in the summer. And I had other plans. Why do you travel so much? Where this time? What money? I believe that travel cost little happy that the lack of money brings you closer to the people, makes you see the best of people, the solidarity of the neighbors awake and truckers. She could not go out or to the beach without a wallet full. Luckily I had a paid job in television, and his eyes promised a long career as an actress of telenovelas. Mine were full of misery to be here. Desire to experiment.

hard to explain. It was my desire to see the world. I have known yelling this and that, I saw a man dressed as a woman on this beach, I saw a beggar warming soup in the street, I have spoken with a dark brunette goddess, and she did not know my language. To be free to see is that traveling alone. This let me live without witnesses, and less aware of sins.

My Cervix Is High And Hard

Desires in a chair

an old chair in a book looking for the owner. If you see him put it to float above the closet again and pay attention to it the next thirty-three hours.

a clothing store in a mental hospital closed the back door, accountants have escaped with the money.

In a country have been cut blond hair and have left no tip. Blacks have sold their cattle and bought Quinela.

light travel in a two mosquitoes with golden heart.

My Tracfone Was Disabled

old Reading (and stressing)

The best time to write it in the morning. After a cold water bath. I want to visit
Kuelap. This morning, this afternoon, I have no desire to write. Discuss about the fatigue, the desire.
Eyes, All eyes are heaven.
I see the holidays in the past. Write. Get a point.
Sometimes I see so slow.
Leo. That one can do with fatigue, let go to Bombay, listen to the busy streets and Rushdie's fictional biography of the mythological nose sniffs the world.
Chronicle about Ted Kennedy in Time. Look at the sea, remember where Cape Cod where he swam with his brothers. The dream and hope.
The narrator of Midnight's Children and his wife, which I see in the Fall of the subject. Command
poems to Lima, a novel view to editor, the poet, the world of publishing. So many things can be put into a box. Remember them? Last night and always. Fatigue down the body, sweet dreams. Final
August and can hardly be a light.

Can A Brazilian Wax Cause Yeast Infections?

El Divino poles running waves and finished off their trip to resources when they returned home. The last business that had happened, after watching a brunette do the same on the streets of Santiago, was to offer pictures of people selling himself as the son of God. Two of his best friends were recruited as Adoration, and followed in the streets near Seventh and Race Caracas. Bookmarks provided with the image of the Divine prayers and arranging photos sold to the son and messenger, who took to the House of customers in a corner, considering the position of the sun. A

Marcelo presented it before leaving as a group to the enjoyment. "The Divine knows your country," said the hostess, Hilda, the girl he had met the previous evening from reporters expected to finish the concert in Parque Simón Bolívar to interview the singer of Pestilence, and that was invited to spend a night in his small bachelor apartment on the Plaza del Chorro in La Candelaria.

"I was in the north and the city of the Dirt" he says earnestly, while what happens remainder of the cigarette to her adorer, who with his eyes concentrated, sustained and leads. El Divino has been changed to white robe through the streets of Bogota and now wears a T-shirt from Chicama Beach. Right hand holds a bottle of wine. "I hope you like the sauce," says he, "because the place where we go is the best place to dance the entire city." Marcelo agree, share your smile and look askance at one of the Adoration, which was also stripped of the gauzy dress in the arrival and sports a low-cut shirt.

walk all among the wet cobblestones of the narrow streets of the neighborhood, down to the heart of the city, to the junction noisy where a modest wooden door and a green light invites them. "This is enjoyment, dance now" seem to say all, while the first beers to get their hands because they know that traveling with no money and no need to ask anything. El Divino let him dance with Adoration and make a neck Sanguchito the daring. Slowly fills up early with a dance that old sweat and breathe New York, when Ruben Blades reached Pleasure with touches of magical music and Lavoe opens the last page of the newspaper, some years in the 70s. Hilda

Her friend mentioned him a note about music in Medellín, trends in heavy metal scene have appropriated Bogota. Nothing of that influence is in this last bastion of old world flavor, no one thinks of black shirts and sweat angry when you move your hips to the rhythm of Gran Combo. It happens the night teenager tired metaphors become adults and beard kind of Divine embraces of friendship and provides all the necessary beer, that won at the point of walking by the Seventh-souvenirs and photos. Close

Pleasure because there are certain rules governing clubs to shut up soon, and the group seems to most modern quarters in a building elevator and new windows within a room in a basement where other alternative bands that pay their homage to rock on a tiny stage and off wear a Colombian flag in the morning in secret. Very tight, very young, the Divine is one more than he enjoyed the concert sitting cross-legged on the floor of the department.

troops were marching from other sides by streets that Marcelo will never know the names. Chases one of the friends that provides home on El Chorro and she offers a story drawn from his childhood in Villavicencio, where the happy childhood and the ravages of war are mistaken you had to ruin your stomach. Beside, the Divine Adoration up between the two and discusses the simplicity of the world in a monologue that they seem to worship. Marcelo keeps track of women of the prairie and found the way to his room where he takes only what is necessary and the tips of her breasts between his fingers. Then she asks him to leave because his friend is going to come from another party and sleep together, so Marcelo is lost almost completely dark in a room where too many people sleeping on the floor and curls up in a blank space.

In the middle of the night, feels that someone is protecting them from cold. Opening his eyes, you need to view the Divine, which has fallen from the couch to cover with a blanket. "Sleep well," he says. And Marcelo always remains the clear prophetic voice of the messenger. Sunrise

soon in those corners and light forces him to stand. Everyone sleeps, he does not. Marcelo walks on fetuses, hedgehogs, pajamas, rags thrown in alcohol, women qu clamor for attention, the little men. Melts by the door and up to the roof by the demure steps of the building. A neighbor down the stairs early riser with a pan full of clothes and not even bother to look. Maybe he hates.

When the city looks on in silence, her friend Hilda appears on the stairs and moves from clotheslines to stay by his side, observing a patient city, beautifully tired.

She offers him a cigarette. Hilda Marcelo let it on, check again the roofs of the city. Do not know what to say, so keep watching and what fills it.

Which Mouthwash Is Oxygenating

ANTONIO RIGO and 5 Poems of the rain forest and

1
Path to death. Remember
. We killed so many flowers.
We all hope fade.

The eternity of love was a clear cry.
Now approaching his death.
Sadness is a safe company
happy and quiet.

2 trees Ah
your black eyes.

At sea on the tops
in the houses of silence
entered in search of its thickness.
3

ascend. Arrived.
I return to the stations.
Now my nature is a field broken

absurd and serene

where your name is tree.

4

Every evening around 6

is a sparrow on the door of my house.
I give a few crumbs of bread.
He gives four or five jumps

gurgles a bit and leaves.

When I return to the poem I noticed light brown feathered
.
sleep with one eye open.
There are days when nothing else happens. 5



This afternoon I write poetry

2 liters of drinking water. Salgo
and is a dog.
Me sniffing, wagging his tail and
wetting my shoes.
I'm a tree. Finally
.

Notes, selection and feedback
By Leo Lobos

poem editing Note 1: "When the American writer Ray Bradbury wrote in 1953 Fahrenheit 451 (novel into a movie years later by Francois Truffaut) no idea how close we find its dystopia fifty years later: A world where thinking is the enemy of happiness imposed on all citizens, of a happiness that comes from eating and leisure, which leads to confinement and isolation between members of one family, a happiness that makes us all strangers. It is a society that promotes and rewards the easy entertainment before the development of imagination, voracious consumerism before observation. Thus, the twenty-first century man wants to buy their happiness, their sons live hooked to video games, silly contests, and television series, it's all publicity, all consumption, and to achieve this happiness friends, you have to run and how ... " So begins the presentation of J. Jorge Espina book Poems and rain forest Antonio Rigo and these words are dated in Palma de Mallorca, Spain in August 2008.

poem editing Note 2: AND J. Jorge Espina says further: "In this world of madness comes not as a fireman in Fahrenheit but a man covered in fat. In its first mutation Antonio Rigo becomes a lyric poet-mechanic and the book Poems of the industrial cause a stir in the literary world. Referring to this book, the beat poet Gary Snyder says that his poems are full of strength and go beyond the easy categories, adding that whether attempted a reconciliation with the physical world from the side of nature and from the side of our daily life in the real world, in both cases is a step toward sanity, and reconciliation. Looking for that sanity Antonio Rigo left the industrial estate. "

poem editing Note 3: Following the advice of his friend the writer and translator Lucia Graves, daughter of the outstanding English poet and novelist Robert Graves, Antonio Rigo is thrown over the cliff. Decides to change his life poetic to say Goodbye to all that and live in constant dialogue with the Muse: call it woman, moon, forest, or simply pure. Two years after writing the poems of the polygon as Trancelike writes this book: Poems rain forest and that remain hidden for 11 years while writing and publishing, among others: Poems airport, which will days and fog radio and, later, Bread oil and other poems. Works displayed in the short poems agile and precise lines reminiscent of Eastern poetic tradition present in all the work of Antonio Rigo. The longer poems are full of those flashes of revelation to which Joyce called epiphanies, also full of parallels between human life, animal and vegetal.

Note editing poem 4: J. Jorge Espina in the presentation of these poems by Antonio Rigo concludes that this book talks about the slow transformation of a man growing tree and poetry as naturally growing plant with flowers, this requires thinking like a tree , feeling like a tree, to love as a tree or a wet animal at night. Antonio Rigo is a forest that grows and cattle yards on the city.

poem editing Note 5: "The mountain remains the same. / Other arms around your body. / And the mountain is igual. / Another tongue licks your chest. / And the mountain remains the same. / Another man dies within. / And the mountain remains the same. " Antonio Rigo was born in Palma de Mallorca, Spain in April 1957. "I do not know how to draw the loneliness in this heaven that you left me, I like the style, short verse, and content. But I've been wanting to read more, see more of Antonio Rigo., I hope you do too.

Santiago de Chile. April 2009

literature director art director Vejar FRANCISCO LEO LOBOS