Thursday, March 31, 2011

Navel Piercing Infection




SOMETHING YOU SAY THAT I WAS HERE

Curiosity overcame fear
and not closed his eyes.
he disappeared,
but his sentence was there ...
JLB

Finally, after all, is a sad life. I can not sleep and my job is to think about what I could do and did, in everything I could give and did not give. Today for the first time since we broke up two years ago, I'm a little slow and melancholy, like a cat at noon, as he suddenly finds a thing lost and forgotten for some time. In my opinion, the conclusion does not offer any resistance: now I forgot. Immediately, I mastered such conviction. And it does not seem reasonable to think otherwise. Now I forgot. No doubt it more. It is quite simple: I know, as no I'll know. Just know that it is. Begin, however, at the beginning.


At first, everything went wrong. And I knew from that moment everything would be worse. I did not mind, of course. As usual with me, I set out to prove it. Curiosity got the better of fear, rather shut my eyes. Moreover, once the love, so to speak, he fled down the stairs after shutting the door in his face, but not before told me he hated me and could not believe I said so many times, I never want to see you anymore, we've talked about this many times, do not know what you are surprised, I agree, but as you well know is not the first time tell me, so I propose a deal, damn, you're always the same, trying to convince me of something, I'm sick of you to make me believe I'm wrong , I began to mourn as a brat abandoned, inconsolable, because he understood that nothing would be as before. There are things that only happen once. Sara is one of them. I'm convinced. And this certainly deserves my trust.


Since then, my regulars for a few months he had been prowling our house, a tiny apartment near Central Park in which one person filled the room and the two became suffocating. It seemed the only way I could to find her. And it was, yes, it was clear that it was. He did not respond at all to my calls or messages, and the few opportunities in which we passed on the street address the thorny encounter with sudden outbursts that led to a window to another, changing sidewalks and storefronts. "Here is a new emotion to add to life," he said in such situations. Eagerly took advantage of every opportunity that offered to follow me through the streets, which for a time seemed to be every street in the world, walking around the city, around the world, from one end to the other on Fifth Avenue, for example, while Sara, joyfully going shopping, its undying purchases.


Fortunately, I remember very well a chance. I looked around. September with the last shining light that he had found the day. Were distributed across the sky like clouds cards among those clear blue scrupulously. Then I saw a woman crossing the street and I immediately thought that maybe it was true that looks like Sara and yet, was just sad that she was not. I stood staring for a moment. September, then smelled farewell to pools that are not in a cloud, sheets of newspaper on the floor of the city and daily wandering. But before anything, about all things smelled traces of women in every street, every sidewalk, in each tile, does not remember where. Sara smelled. I knew their steps almost by heart, like mine, but they went from me, the way of other steps, other lips, I thought, under an innocent sky never tired of watching, or look boldly, insurance of itself, first one after the other, or both at once, it was possible, that admirable pair of legs when they said goodbye in the rain, now, for it rained without discretion, with unbreakable energy. There was not a beam of light streaking the air between skyscrapers. Rain, distinctly heels, copy the steps, interrogating them, looked the same way, with its thousand eyes, endless apple green means paradise. Sara, but Sara was not, unfortunately, was white like a bird. But nevertheless, for me it was Sara, and this illusion I breathed new courage to tell her, because it was Sara and it was a white coat of halftime and a fresh smell of cologne that change the scent of rain and was a lime green wool cap under the shade of the umbrella light greened, among the rainbow of multi-colored bags. And nothing happened, it is true, but it all happened. I closed my eyes. I opened them. And it was, without the slightest suspicion, one of those days when you do not want to forget that has eyes. Then I saw Sara, excited by rain, with high heels and stockings as bait nets, bringing in irreparable bite soul, that mark before any night, we call love as usual. I pictured myself falling prey to memory and nostalgia, pure fantasy. Someone said, not without reason, so it must have been Eve. And then stressed ensuring that their eyes sparkled as bright blue swimming pools, as the blue flame of butane gas, and that his skin was golden and tender as anything only what is bread. Another said, biting her tongue in another way, that their lips colorful, unusual and red upper and lower open as closed as they were like two strawberries halved. Something. And I thought that rain, anticipating my mouth, he disputed his own, left a bad taste unprecedented in the lower lip, but also on the top. I'm sure. And today would be bearable, and even evocative, if all this were not within my pain so recognizable. The wind, from time to time, taking up arms as an Adam erect, with an expression of insatiable hunger, tugging the dress like a common assailant. Everything in his body became, inevitably, in an inescapable sign that he loved her as she loves a mirage, I dunno. And for a moment, I believed him naked in immortalized zebra crossing and I wanted with my mouth get dry her naked while that lasted the green light and the miracle of water stressed, perplexed and uncensored, embroidering his silhouette behind the flower dress torn, that flag suddenly wetting and that is transparency in their fulfillment more ineffable, more hope weakness of his underwear. And without knowing, or caring, where the hell was going, I walked after her small, gothic heels a few blocks until it turned left, a little later, to a square with pigeons and the statue of a conquistador. He paused to light a cigarette, touched up her lips with pink lipstick and stick his mirror and, as he was, colored cheeks. Closed satisfied the tiny glass case, he resumed his way, and almost immediately saw herself opening the glass doors of a pompous restaurant. There was expecting a man - I knew then - that kissed her half would have put me forward. And my footsteps, holding their breath, looking in time and space, and also wanted to live my eyes, staring, screwed his own, and my hands suddenly knew he was not. And before leaving, I looked into my eyes as Sara only knew how. His eyes were blue like a dart. I thought it was going to lose consciousness. At that moment I felt the blue streak of her perfume, the same I gave in our first anniversary. I mean, Sarah. I tried to breathe deeply. Then continued their march, led firmly by the arm of that man, that spectacular tangle of streets, mingling with the gentle stream of passersby. I longed for was the exact future of their prints. I stopped abruptly, and interrupted that I deemed as the unabashed joy of pursuing it. And I felt, for that matter, his irresistible good-bye to my body like an electric shock. For a moment I lost it. Then, while he sighed, recovered from the sea of \u200b\u200bpeople. I stopped to see a little later. Were, without my knowing (that I noticed later) the best times of my life. Follow it was so necessary as breathing. But how out of it? I am convinced that it was useless to continue the illusion that he had no other object than to produce a disappointment. I just found a way out. I decided to go home. Sara was recovering.


For some reason, just knowing that Sarah was out there in the odd place in New York, blonde and well, I consoled myself everything. The pretext was not important. Episodes came to mind with her remote, you helped me remember that New York was not just Manhattan, their presence labyrinth, and you had while we were walking the shimmering shores of the Hudson, insipid dialogue of mutual incomprehension partner about which of them wanted more on the other, Maybe they do not want me, I love you, how do you know?; do not know, sorry, I notice, how can you be sure that what you notice is that I want and nothing else?, I love you, and I can not believe I say so many times, I just look at you to be happy, do you really love me?; I love you like almost nobody has been able to ever want, but you would reject me, but do not want me or you would like to quietly, secretly, we would expect in any room where were you only see from afar, how may doubt what you want?, how you do not hesitate?, what real proof I have that I want?, yes, you say you love me, but they are just words, it is very easy to say I love you; What to do?, what do you show that you want?, do I have to kill to prove it?, I do not like that tone, do not be melodramatic, look, honey, stuns me, fed me, maybe it's not me want ... Now I know what I wanted.


Later (and I remember with horror), I left a crimson stain at the dawn without birds, and told me to not wait until night. I knew then that the dislike was a taxi away, yellow, slow, melancholic. My heart, an open grave in the middle of a street.
And today, however, when rightly to be fair ...

... For three days, praying on the floor of the Brooklyn Bridge an eerie graffiti: Sara, what else is needed?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

How To Make Whippet Clothes




ON EYES ONLY SEEN IN THE SKY

Today I again have the
nightmare when the two fall into the void.
You have told me again:
"My past is full of shit.

I have at heart only a stone. "
I wanted to mourn, but I can not.
And I've seen blue skies in the ledge

moving as well as a dress, and giving

Amazon soft steps,
increasingly higher and more blue.

clouds crawling, heaven knows,
and white gloves ... Ava Garner
is noon. And do not recognize
in the eyes of anyone. You'll never be happy. Your smile
suddenly it's a fallen angel
in my small hands, where it
all the death, thorough and fair.

And your eyes look
to love letters

Henry Miller ever wrote not Marilyn.

In the midst of tears,
I clean the memories of Paloma
and cut the lawn surrounding the house
as the two were doing at times.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Bmi For Females In Another Country




ROXANA

Sometimes I wanted and other
times I did not know love, love, as I told you you would
once, as would
tell you again if you still love me.
Is today the day that was then, as night
in pictures:
violet light in the same coffee,
the lighted lamp in the darkness where I've been waiting
, Roxana;
flowers on the table a noun ;
red, as the heraldry in the cup
do you remember the bolero on the terrace,
of your dance moves after mine?;
looks, my love, world size:
seem, stars by Van Gogh;
on the shore, the orange enlightening
with so much white neon moon
silence, steeped in crimson;
my words of love, raw,
the evening stroll along the river, where your hand
has
red roses and a full moon and strength exercises
a wedding dress on the water.
Remember? I went to your hands
under heaven. Your blue eye winking
was a flag hoisted between my doubts
and the four walls of your kisses.
I wanted to stay in the dark with your lips, touching the air
burning your tongue,
know I am alive inside your mouth ...
But you'll love, as you left.
The night is the memory of another night,
your love is the memory of another love,
of another river, another boat and other lips. No kisses
twice, my love,
the same woman. Is your look
the hardest mirage, a decoration.
I know that water is not the same water:
not forget me no mirror, I recognized
time being ...
not forget me. Call me one day.
may be that, at the end of another night,
an empty bed is waiting
if you let the sheets
spread the weed, the kiss that you gave. Perhaps
dawn
is only a symptom of what lies ahead, the first cold
body that looks so many times.
Is it late love? I try not to think:
to see you, love, take that corner,
first thing I did was peek
believe you could go back.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Is It Okay Douche While You Have Herpes




CELESTE AND PARK

... when you see your eyes,
that I have tattooed on mine.
A. Pizarnik


When exiting the car,
life seemed a pair of socks
open oranges
on behalf of my hands.
And to think that later rose
- with my doubts-to seven inches of soil,
Like the heart,
to dream higher.
In the park gate, under the blue solar
imitating daylight in your eyes
a false jewel, or something.
The world around was no big deal.
For a moment I was so sure
that nothing on earth smelled
like you.
happiness was a miracle in your skin. Air
brought a flower stolen from your domain, green
green heels decorated the floor.
The powder saved kindly
laureate your shirt pocket.
saw nothing dirtier than that lily
spotted eclipsing the sweet geography
the shortest nipple and more poignant.
And my face looked suddenly your mouth.
"May I have a light?" He said
your mouth with lipstick decorated,
tuteando your lips my ears
in front of the park, and I
lit the flame of silence, and did not tell you:
" You're all I want. "
And I said:
"Only in your lips
fit all my kisses.
Nude're just like a square in Rome.
If you let me show you
not only know how to speak, that everything is a miracle,
because the miracle is not to dispose
as a sugar cube in your mouth. "
I would have given the fire from the gods.
And I ran out of air as a
knot tie wrapped around my neck,
registering my hands in his jacket,
broken into the pockets of value.
Dibujándote a head no,
I could not say anything ... And I said:
"Two black cats jump into my eyes from
the roof in the heat of your own. "
And I gave thanks likewise.
you away from me, beautifully,
your steps color of hope.
I lit the cigarette a passerby.
Your smoky eyes,
eyes of low clouds,
taught me that happiness
encloses an open pit.
With book in hand
and smiling,
Celeste,
on the park bench ... And I said:
"Dressed you Like a street in Athens,
where the air is the soft blue awnings,
like saying your name in voice low ...
Red music comes to me,
music in the mouth of the kiss that you have been
and kiss you in the mouth you,
which is my own mirage
and maybe you. "
And I said," Honey, my heart is sad
my soul, a spirit that does not allow the brush. "
In park bench since
happens, tattered, time
as is a poem.
_________________¿ what else I can say?
and trembling I feel
the sun when you take your clothes off so many night
as the day he took off one glove Gilda.

And there is, under a sky nipped in the bud,
this pain blue in the air of the park yet.