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Table with oil, tempera, gold leaf and glass beads (2000)

Broken Capilliaries On Face Help

"But let the fiery human tears fall one by one in your heart, and that it remain not brush it off, until the pain has faded to the cause. "

is time to move forward, not to oppose the flow protester who looks reborn, after finding this empty space so vast that intended to happiness, cooperation and trust. I crossed a mountain range hidden in shadows, shutting my eyes, clouding my mind leaving it naively create chaos in an acid lake feelings but passengers who failed to make bigger karmic shaped network which remained tied. And if my heart was suspended in the inhanición, I confess it was for the good fortune or perhaps a reward than a decade Amor came back settling down, waiting for the day of stray bullets, the day Maya attacked us, leaving us homeless and without a mission in the world, that day consumed their fruits that kept me alive, electrified, linear pulling me from the abyss normal.

When you reach the bottom, there are two options: adapting to a foreign environment, or the tedious way up, but there are mountains to climb, there are others that must be defeated.


If I've got here is not mere chance, if I have the brain of a child who knows that to speak is no need for automatic sounds of affirmation or denial, but simply being, not within that existentialist, but rather within that of the eternal soul over the years to come rising up to the yoke sensory. I still do not want to grow, if that's what they call growing ...... For what?.

This backflow reaches inevitable, can I adapt to this way and if I should accept the public maximum that one is free to dream, but not to live in the dream. Growing well ...? for what? rather lead to end this awkward body to see what lies beyond and in any case again, they are only assumptions, I have no other to overcome the lion and bring him to live with my eternal soul of a dog, walk the trail where we have become. The

Leadership is very fragile, the power of darkness and destroyer of the real is not irelevante as I thought, and if me is to succumb again or take them where no one has come before, has always been my nature to venture by the two roads, the survivor feel, knowing the dark reality that proclaim and aspire to those most alienated are not living a dream, this great dream of God within, of possessions in the center and decide what is right or wrong.

I am a simple man seasoned in rich mentally retarded and placed in the spotlight as the son of a KING, I'll try that after so much love, tears without rinsing and walk a bit quiet have mercy on me and realize that I am but one more than vibrates everywhere desperately trying to change that ........

If an unquestionable certainty is that the river can not deny the inevitable encounter with the sea.

! Broder Always with me!

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Your tranki ke ...

Jeff Hardy New Look 2010

La Cruz de Caravaca

Can I Return Something To Macy's Without A Box?

Pilar Salazar Martinez, my paternal grandmother

My grandson Mario

My grandparents have been so important for me to consider it a disgrace that a person does not have these memories.

Pilar Salazar Martinez was my paternal grandmother was born in Alcaudete, Jaén province, on Wednesday, January 3, 1883. I can say little or nothing of their childhood or adolescence, I can not even say exactly how many siblings he had. His parents were Juan Salazar Carrillo and Ana Martínez Vigil and his brothers I only met his sister Dolores who was the mother and Manuela Amparo Bermudez de Castro, the late mother of Salido Bermúdez de Castro, Eduardo, "Bobes" and other sisters and brothers.
also met a brother of my grandmother whose name was Henry and that was lame from a stone, which was hit in the knee when he was a lad. I remember his bent figure, always with his crutch with a permanent smile and very kind to me when he came by the house to visit my grandmother.

The August 22, 1914 she married my grandfather Edward and had two children, my father and my uncle Eduardo Manuel. Pilar
My grandmother was a very special woman, professional tailor and shirt-up own workshop was beyond what we now mean by retirement age and with her learned to sew a number of women Alcaudete, the "girls" as she told them. All sitting in wicker chairs, backless, which we called "monkeys" and that there is still some in my backyard.

The task of stitching should be a passion for her because he did nothing in his life, that and make the food, though she ate very little. Offal rice with chicken broth and smoked by the olive tree wood used as firewood and tomatillo fried, very oily, with chorizo \u200b\u200band eggs, live on in my memory as delicious.
She was small and small, with those round glasses glasses that were slowly moving toward the tip of his nose. He sat, sewing, to the left of the exit to the backyard, where there was (and still is), a lush jasmine, which, for the summer evenings, they gathered their flowers to make bows or biznagas they wore on the lapel of his blouse men of the family or friends.
remember her with the needle in his hand, putting together the front of an American or shaping the neck of a poplin shirt, singing in a feeble voice, the couplet area Flor which perpetuates Raquel Meller. Another
marimba let out a soft voice were some stanzas which read as follows:

- Do you like carnations?
- Well, yes!
- If I's a gift, make me an ugly?

Al over the years I knew it was a scene composed of Venancio and Isidra, characters from "The Saint of the Isidra" a lyrical farce of manners in Madrid, to music by Tomás López Torregrosa and lyrics by Carlos Arniches.
I also remember another song that repeated with some leave Argentina ...

- The day of the wedding
tipo'e cassock said:
"The arena is always
keep your whore."
And you interpret things backwards
,
what I'll keep
is what you want? ...
... If broken face
train plan to continue,
"May Day"
will call you.

Not long ago I was surprised to hear the voice of Carlos Gardel and then I know it was the tango "lazy", written by Manuel Romero and Luis Bayon Herrera, with music by Enrique Delfino. I do not know where and how my grandmother learned that song.

Among the memories of my childhood, I get a tin Carousel, placed on a chest of the living room to receive and to let me play on rare occasions and two large cardboard horses, the newest, hanging from the ceiling in the stairwell of the house.
The backyard was split into two parts, the first with his vine at the entrance of the stove, was landscaped with flower beds and paved, the second part was aimed at the building blocks for water and toilets to store firewood támaras of olive and fig tree of considerable size which I liked to climb. A headache for my grandmother!
also remember a bowl of water and ash in the background, where I used to enjoy getting a stick to remove it gently and observe the movement of ash into the liquid. I was older I knew that water was used as a bleach and then leave me not cloudy.
Another thing that fascinated me was watching my grandmother, and rocked the iron of coal to stoke the embers contained. When it reached the proper temperature used it on a blanket and a white cloth placed on the round table. Sometimes helped by a heavy rounded table she used to iron the sleeves of jackets.

I also mentioned a wicker tray, flat, I retain as gold cloth that my grandmother used as a display of folded shirts and freshly ironed. Pilar
My grandmother wanted me to excesses and real passion, I was embarrassing the way she looked at me totally fascinated and I had no other to remain by his side as I stroked and looked at me with rapture. I also liked very much and life chances of today live in what was his home.
Only in his hand and his company, I dared to approach a large box that was in his bedroom: the souls in Purgatory ... these naked men and women, with rueful faces and the flames caused me real dread.
His life was a life working from dawn to dusk and only in the evening, dressed in black, of course, helmeted the veil and the Carmelite church, to pray the rosary, while fanning looking boldly to some and others already which no doubt "..., heard to ask ... you of who you are ... "
All his life he complained of stomach, "I have heartburn," he repeated, with discomfort and took a slip of paper with baking. About to turn eighty, my father took her to the doctor in Almeria, where we lived back then. Would not be surprised that heartburn ... nothing, so he had his whole life was a lack of acid in the stomach and digestion was so deeply flawed, so my father repeated over and over again ... , "heartburn? heartburn?, acenoche is what you have"
I also spoke to you, is what I heard, but not so I had a relationship distant with my grandparents, on the contrary.

The last years of his life had little contact with her, he wrote letters from Barcelona to read and reread again and again. He lost Sight and almost could not sew, so his character is somewhat soured and of course my grandfather was paid to Edward, who became angry when called "mackerel" and scolded him saying ... "enjoy friyéndome blood. " He had the misfortune to fall and break your hip, not the surgery and died, in 1967, after many days between moans. Were other times, but that does not justify the cruelty of his final. Do not know if will be Glory but amply deserved, what do believe is that one is a bit alive as it enters the memory of someone. On this side my grandmother Pilar is very much alive because not a day goes by that does not remember and think about it.