What Can I Give My Yorkie For Pain?

When I was 18 with my friend Damiana memory recited chapters of Rayuela. Latest arrivals of our people, Buenos Aires had the same context: we started with the land and, if our shots were clear and the balance was with us, we knew we were going to gain heaven. The day began at 8 pm and extending until the bakeries in the Santa Fe Av wake. Studied and loved Julio Cortázar with devoted passion. We had developed a perfect system to see if the man she knew was "that we had to find" and repeated like a psalm, walked without knowing that we were to find us meet. If the chosen squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom as descartábamos. If we said "I touch your mouth with my finger I touch your mouth ..." and he was unresponsive and not telling the keyword "cortazar," then no conmisceración desechábamos ....

"Julito" was Cortázar, and our respective "Rayuela" had annotations, deletions, obscenities, dried flowers, feathers found, autumn leaves ...

Friendship is so, is this line that goes from life, its moments, books shared memory and exalted joy. A line that connects all the tears clandestine and dishes.

Years passed, Damiana traveled to Paris, and from there I got this gift (this photo) with the note she left for Julio, our own, signed by the two, there, in his tomb in the cemetery Momparnasse.

The note says "thanks." And we get to heaven ... we come to heaven.

Are Mtx Square Subwoofers Good

The old clown gifts to his son why ELISEO

photo: Sebastian Miquel

The old your child clown
1
Avanza and my son, from the vain
where the folds of the strong purple
hide the impudence of the machines
-so useful true-
abandonment of large curtains that have hung
as dead birds in the dust moves
from the shade and make your bow
as if you were never coming back.
2
're in the middle of Light: front
opens
enormous gulf of darkness where there is no doubt that someone watches you
with a thousand hungry eyes.
Sometimes you'll hear coughing, laughing as sneak, sneeze
perhaps shudder, never
what you really see. Bend,
for as cane in the wind: but look
While drawing the curve around the end
is art.
3
And now
what will you do? You definitely have escaped
my sleeplessness, and almost as if I
also the grim leviathan
I look back and forth on stage, but irrestañable
with apprehension. Are you sure

weight
fair balls that you delivered to the air?
And the fish, perhaps misjudged
strange mood
and after color change.
Disaster sensitive
disasters, who knows what else
.
(The invisible
yesterday had no mercy.)
4
But tomorrow, when the old
thoroughly sweep today
the little left in
butts all over the desolate
wide space where no one ever: import
the thunder of the glory or the silence
of crumpled paper in a corner
under the dust of yesterday? Nobody knows.
Yet
is necessary to do well.

DIEGO-Cuba ELISEO

Running Ontario Plates In Quebec

DIEGO ROQUE DALTON

You do loves poems and

the strange laughter of children,

underground man

acid in cities disguises his legend,

the establishment of joy

who prophesies the smoke from factories.

One is in the hands of a small country,

horrible dates,

dead and knives demanding bishops

poisonous

young huge standing

no older than hope,

baking rebels more power than a lily,

tailors like life,

pages, girlfriends,

sporadic bread, sick children,

lawyers traitors

grandchildren of the sentence and what they were,

wasted wedding impotent male mother

, pupils, bridges, broken

photographs and programs.

One is going to die,

morning

a year

petals a month without sleeping,

will be dispersed underground

and new men come

calling scenarios.

will ask why we went,

pure flame who preceded them,

who curse at the memory.

Good. That

do:

custodians including the time we play.

ROQUE DALTON

Do All Real License Have Holograms?

write-dawn assault on the clean-JOSE throw Portogalo

A while repeating "life is for us to make life" of hearsay ... Walking Dorrego in San Telmo I found an old coffee table books. There was this issue, we lost a writer also "lost" or "rarely visited" ... I bring it here to share with you my friends, the joy of things that appear in life, suddenly, those that we thought were around forever and brighten our days ... Julia


A Ramón Sender

insults I climb the many- tides

as children climb the affection of a man.
I have the desire to earn a full cry.
cry: Life is ours! and open horizons.

old bronze doors of iron riveted,
fall when the voices are grouped into a fist. Men
rickety, back to life:
dancen bullets and are not of this world.

A bald men of ideas, bloody swamp,
to old words that litter higher
I give them a warning to me are the arms
of those uprooted from their eyes the tears.

The humility that old mask-not make his
our meat is also a voice node branches out
and its dark climates, like a tree root, nurtured
pure sap bowls of her womb.

And nice! which is against us,
the poor, those rivers of blood, silent and slow,
that lead to the well depths of the earth,
ascending to the upper limit of the heavens.

Life is for us the life we \u200b\u200b
drops of sweat, momentum, strength and
ever or never have a bed
to dig the depth of a womb in spring .

vex us, exploit us, we are reduced to zero, if you shake
an outcry castrate us. We
wet slime of a meager salary and we
fitting into law as workhorses.

tell of La Piedad, goodness, and Art,
priests, artists, teachers, poets,
the name of the people who set themselves up as scouts,
these children whore with lunch and dinner! Ah

Lord Jesus Christ: we do not want your sentences
yeast-free breads, wonderful, human,
which are nothing more than phrases but which inhibit us and uncover
, cunning, our pores of tears .

We do not want your sentences. I, who come from below and
I walked among workers hungry and dirty hands,
know what the world, this world of shit,
I tell you right: your words are whores.

To hell with all the beautiful parables.
Fuck all scruples deaf.
presented arms proletarians of the world
shot and clean, firm, vaciémosles eyes.

Life is for us who make life
drops of sweat, momentum, force,
and never or never have a bed
to dig the depth of a belly in spring.

JOSE Portogalo