Hello, down here I leave a rare text that I wrote long ago and I went back to correct a few months ago. It is a text-tale so strange that I do not know is worthy of being posted on the blog or worthy of a Nobel Prize. (I think more the former than the latter, right?) Anyway, I hope to investigate further comments on this type of writing.
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Live the memory of a trip. Close your eyelids, open your eyes. Look at the sky and down at your feet feel the path that takes you to Mars. Mars, eternal life. Out of here. Meditate in the church, come to flush a ravine, always breathe. Look, do not rest, searches through the darkness, fear biting. Crosses the past, the years lost by that time. Just a moment. "It was worth it? I think so. Take the keys and throw them out the window. Fall into the pool of blue plastic. Think if it was a mistake. Not worth eating coconuts. Grab the wallet and devour bright marks between establishments. Contemplate the wrinkles in the mirror of a window. You were dreaming. Awake. Embrace the iron bars. Oxide reaches your bones and do not know how to hold dream another day in this cage. Dogs. Read a face peep poem, imagine the collective frÃay shower: naked women, men sweating, creams and steam stale jelly achicharrándote face. This world is just imagine and decide whether to kill the child within you. People spend, spend quiet the crowd. Walk on, walk path to Mars. Mars is heaven. The cell captures the beating they gave you that day. The cell hidden. Do not you remember? Fear Biting, peering into the darkness and none of it helped. The cell is still there and that candy man. The child in your womb. Do not know what to do. A dental clinic. The umbilical cord cut too soon. Crouch look. Still in the shadow of your hand, you leave your child in a landfill. Screams. Tears. People meter wobble. Car keys floating in a blue sea and no fish died. You grab the bar. You've made your decision between hidden sweats. Antiperspirants. People are air. You go home, alone. The lights blind you and you stop for the night. These locked in an event. Rape. Waxed for life. Innocent but the child is already dead and your impatience will wait forever, the next stop.
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Story written by Juan Manuel Rodriguez de Sousa.
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