
jueves, 31 de diciembre de 2009

jueves, 24 de diciembre de 2009

"That's what it's all about, isn't it? That's what it's always been about. Gifts, gifts... gifts, gifts, gifts, gifts, gifts. You wanna know what happens to your gifts? They all come to me. In your garbage. You see what I'm saying? In your garbage. I could hang myself with all the bad Christmas neckties I found at the dump. And the avarice.. The avarice never ends! "I want golf clubs. I want diamonds. I want a pony so I can ride it twice, get bored and sell it to make glue." Look, I don't wanna make waves, but this whole Christmas season is stupid stupid stupid!"
lunes, 30 de noviembre de 2009
viernes, 27 de noviembre de 2009
lunes, 16 de noviembre de 2009
sábado, 7 de noviembre de 2009

FELICES 17 A LA MEYIYA MÁS MEJOR DE TODAS
miércoles, 4 de noviembre de 2009

martes, 27 de octubre de 2009

viernes, 2 de octubre de 2009
domingo, 27 de septiembre de 2009

jueves, 24 de septiembre de 2009
sábado, 19 de septiembre de 2009
viernes, 28 de agosto de 2009

miércoles, 26 de agosto de 2009

domingo, 23 de agosto de 2009
miércoles, 19 de agosto de 2009
lunes, 17 de agosto de 2009

The blank pages of my diary,that I haven't touched since you left me.The closed blinds in my home see no light of day.Dust gathers on my stereo,cos I can't bear to hear the radio.The piano sits in a shaded space with a picture of your face.I'm scared to face another day,cos the fear in me just won't go away.In an instant, you were gone and I'm scared.Coffee stains on your favorite book,remind me of you so I can't even look.The magazines you left on the floor,you won't need them anymore.A towel left hangin on the wall,no sign of wet foosteps in the hall.There's no smell of your sweet cologne.I'm lying here alone.
sábado, 15 de agosto de 2009
martes, 11 de agosto de 2009

lunes, 10 de agosto de 2009

Vogue, septiembre 1976
viernes, 24 de julio de 2009
miércoles, 22 de julio de 2009
domingo, 19 de julio de 2009
The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost (1915)
miércoles, 15 de julio de 2009

martes, 14 de julio de 2009

jueves, 9 de julio de 2009

miércoles, 8 de julio de 2009
martes, 7 de julio de 2009
sábado, 4 de julio de 2009
In the wintertime,keep your feet warm,keep your clothes on and don't forget me. Keep the memory,but keep your powder dry, too. In the summer,by the pool side while the fireflies,are all around you, I'll miss you when i'm lonely, I'll miss the sunshine, too. No, don't forget me, please don't forget me,make it easy on me just for a little while. You know I'll think about you,I hope you think about me, too. When we're older and little slower ,it doesn't matter now,come on, get happy 'cause nothing lasts forever, and I will always love you
lunes, 29 de junio de 2009

sábado, 27 de junio de 2009

viernes, 26 de junio de 2009

Desde que ya no está,él no descanza en paz.Su alma llora.Él no se conforma con la soledad.Desde que ya no está,él empezo a vagar.Su alma penitente,sin opción a muerte por la eternidad.Se conocieron en un frío diciembre,tres años atras.Él quería asustarla por el ventanal.Ella lo asusto cuando le sonrio.Él miró sus ojos y cayó en su fondo,hasta su corazón.Ella es una loca,loca perdida.Él adora su alma herida.Y se amaron bailando sin tiempos.Psicofonías que el cantaba en el viento.Ella es una loca,loca perdida.Él se aparece en fuego y policromías.El fantasma y la loca se quieren casar,el padre de ella no lo quiere aceptar.Más una maldición lo ata en la mansión,por eso el canta.Canta y el viento se lleva su lamentación.Si pones atención,escucharas su voz y seguro que ella ya en su blanca celda,baila psicofonías de amor.Ella es una loca,loca perdida.Él la adora, ella nunca lo olvida,pues la envuelve con psicofonías.Los muertos nos hablan,algunos nos aman.
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