<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892</id><updated>2011-07-07T23:32:57.023-05:00</updated><title type='text'>7iv3</title><subtitle type='html'>eventos diarios narrados en una fluctuante tendencia metafórica &lt;br&gt; daily events narrated on a fluctuating metaphoric tendency</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>155</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1555754155677130494</id><published>2010-02-11T11:32:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T21:51:59.218-05:00</updated><title type='text'>once... upon a time</title><content type='html'>you know that he loves you when...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Wednesday, January 20, 2010 at 2:59pm&lt;br /&gt;he calls you or goes to have a video conference with you everyday even when he hasn't had his breakfast yet and to cheer you up he sends several kisses to the camera while chatting with you... and then sings you the "cica mica song" (egy cica ket cica szaz cica hey megfogta az icipici egeret) when there's 20 people around in the crew library. he trustes you even when it's known that most of your friends are male and you're away from him... and he's willing to stay an undetermined extra months on board just to be with you.&lt;br /&gt;he takes you to have an ice cream after you had and fixed an argument&lt;br /&gt;he pulls you to get you in bed with him to warm you holding you (and asking for nothing else) when you arrive from outside and you're freezing cold and he's been nice and warm having his afternoon nap.&lt;br /&gt;he makes sure you're comfortable right before he kisses you every night before going to sleep, in fact, he makes sure you're comfy all the time aware that he's dealing with a woman, not with a girl.&lt;br /&gt;he tries to do not wake you up when you're still sleeping and he has to start his day earlier... and when he wakes you up he's careful. he lets himself being pulled by you when you hold him...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and in some way i've learned his way to say "i'm sorry" without using those words and that most of the times he prefers to do instead of just talk... that is Róbert Várszegi, my Gatito&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mirror&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Thursday, January 7, 2010 at 12:17pm&lt;br /&gt;can't recognize who is in the mirror when it's in front of me&lt;br /&gt;selective amnesia... mental leprosy... once a quick solution&lt;br /&gt;the price shows itself clearly now... how could i believe that it was that easy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;songs i had and didn't recognize&lt;br /&gt;things i've done and now i've to run all over the rooms to find who did it&lt;br /&gt;spread in the shallow emptiness of this chimera of mine&lt;br /&gt;once delight turns into delusion&lt;br /&gt;scratching the lighter to recognize my own hands&lt;br /&gt;there's another element in this equation and its solution is within itself&lt;br /&gt;can't reach it, i might delucidate it but i'd be still in the high fields of speculation&lt;br /&gt;where everything blooms and never dies&lt;br /&gt;never dies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;crossing fingers, tipping "fast"&lt;br /&gt;now... just a little sight above the thin brown line...&lt;br /&gt;Written about a month ago · Comment · LikeUnlike&lt;br /&gt;Kd Thecrazy likes this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;randomness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Saturday, November 14, 2009 at 12:26pm&lt;br /&gt;music has been my sanctuary for ages... there will never be a song refusing to be played or asking me questions, it will sound and I'll take what I need and in the middle of sounds and a nice randomized playlist (with tunes that I picked previously depending on my mood, ha!) I suddenly find the basic for of myself to comfront when I'm not able to say "I'm fine" without lying.&lt;br /&gt;In a few words: it's the catalyzer I use when I can't balance my equation on my own... and eventually Greta is Greta again, the core that decides what is to be done and followed. Nothing to fear though, I don't get into fights unless I feel they're worth to fight (or the prize is worth the effort) - sorry if it hurts but I can't help being competitive, I've learned to lose in the last 10 years but honestly I will always run and prefer the taste of victory - oh, ephemeral feeling, when everybody is gone and the cheering is shut down, all you know is that no one has the most ridiculous idea of how it feels... although I can compare it to the feeling when snowboarding or that sort of things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* for the manual: it's easier to deal with me when I'm paying attention to music with lyrics, when I'm into fully instrumental, please don't ask questions, thanks :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;still... random lines of the songs i asked the winamp throw at me "randomly"&lt;br /&gt;what comes around goes around/i'm bringing sexy back/intro of dani California/scar tissue/Woe to You Oh Earth and Sea/soooooo understaaaand, don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years/RUN TO THE HILLS RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!/one minute here, one minute there/talking to myyyyyyself, everybody's staring at me, i'm only bleediiiiiing/WE CARE A LOT! about the little things, the bigger things we top/so much blood/tommy the cat intro/i want a girl with a mind like a diamong, i want a girl who knows what's best.../don't you, forget about me/the devil went down to georgia... you're pretty good ol' son/8-6-7-5-3-0-9/i'll wait for you there, like a stone/i know it sounds funny but i just can't stand the pain/lil' sister, why you're all alone?/But then someday people look at you for what they call their own/watch out for people with big feet... just because you're a lizzard doesn't mean you're safe/it's bittersweet... surrender/yo pretty ladies around the world...WORD UP!/i got a pocket full of... kryptoniiiiiite/do i deserve to be? is that the question?/i know you/take care not to make me enter, if i do we both may disappear/Ooh, once upon a time I could LOSE myself, yeah.../he don't know, so he chases them away/see this needle/She don't wander in here...don't wander in here.../dancing days are here again/would?/i just can't look, it's kiling me, and taking control/I got two turntables and a microphone, Where it's at?!/i seem to recognize your face/ IT'S EVOLUTION BABY!!!!! /aaaand i feel that time's a-wasting, go/this one, said he wants to buy you rockets/once divided...nothing left to subtract...some words when spoken...can't be taken back...walks on his own...with thoughts he can't help thinking...future's above...but in the past he's slow and sinking...caught a bolt 'a lightnin'...cursed the day he let it go.../I don't wanna stay/it's in your face but you can't grab it.../you will never understand cos it happens too fast/i've gone hungry/Of what was everything? Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed Everything.../i'm going to disneyland/don't call me daughter/this is getting old and so are you...everything you know and never knew...will run through your fingers just like sand - enjoy it while you can -/I know the pieces fit cause I watched them fall away/i ask how are you, yeah, how are you?/She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better man.../please, please, please...don't go on me/will I wake up, some dream I made up, no i guess it's reality/you cannot quit me so quickly, there's no hope in you for me? no corner you could squeeze me, but i got all the time for you loooooove/talk to me now i'm older/early in the morning... love's what I got, don't start a riot, you'll feel it when the dance gets hot/you could have a big dipper... going up and down, all around the bends/here's a little song i wrote/blitzkrieg bop/hey where did we go? days when the rains came/una luz reflejada... la modelo mirando a la nada/LIVE BABY LIVE!/I GET KNOCKED DOWN, BUT I GET UP AGAIN, YOU NAY EVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN/i can tell by the way you talk, you wanna be alone with him/shock the monkey/stand back... i said, stand back!/i hope you had the time of your life/where it began, i can't begin to know, but then i know it's growing strong/girl i want to be with you in the daytime.../all my instincts, they return/load up your guns, bring your friends/what's going wrong with the world? i don't even know what's going on/i've had the blues, the reds and the pinks, but one thing's for sure/life's is rich, but it's way too short/PANAMA/the monster's loose and now you have to choose and prove that you can take it to the top before you fall/we're only making plans for nigel, we only want what's best for him/look in my eyes, what do you see?/iiiiiiii'm coming out so you'd better get this party started/i am unwritten/playing for the high one, dancing with the devil,going with the flow, it's all a game to me/she was more than beautiful&lt;br /&gt;closer to etherial with a kind of down to earth flavor/heeeere comes the hot stepper/don't understimate me boy, i'll make you sorry you were born/well I'm gonna get up in the morning hit the highway 49/can you read my mind?/all my friends know a lowrider/don't have to be rich to be my girl/beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young/i'm a new soul i came to this strange world hoping to learn something give and take/everybody's got somebody/sittin' in the morning sun/disappear/i guess it's nothing new `cause nobody's listening it's like giants falling down/people keeps repeating that you'll never fall in love/my heart going boom boom boom/trees are green, red roses too, i see them bloom for me and you... and i think to myself/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and to close this senseless note... full lyrics of wiser time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time left now for shame&lt;br /&gt;Horizon behind me, no more pain&lt;br /&gt;Windswept stars blink and smile&lt;br /&gt;Another song, another mile&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You read the line every time&lt;br /&gt;Ask me about crime in my mind&lt;br /&gt;Ask me why another road song&lt;br /&gt;Funny but I bet you never left home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a good day, I know it aint every day&lt;br /&gt;We can part the sea&lt;br /&gt;And on a bad day, I know it aint every day&lt;br /&gt;Glory beyond our reach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fourteen seconds until sunrise&lt;br /&gt;Tired but wiser for the time&lt;br /&gt;Lightning 30 miles away&lt;br /&gt;Three thousand more in two days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(damn it!, I always find something nice with these guys)&lt;br /&gt;now that i'm about to get intoxicated with the stranglers' golden brown... catch you later!&lt;br /&gt;no... it's going to be a version of satriani's crystal planet, oh my, under these circumstances the difference between heaven and hell is the absence of this song... gracias otra vez, Sr. Satriani!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From here to there... anywhere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Tuesday, October 20, 2009 at 1:19pm&lt;br /&gt;surf the wave, ride the moutain... take it as it comes, keep the best, discard what is useless... that was pretty much what I thought before I started this ship's life. This philosophy was extremely useful while dealing with the expected and not so forseen situations, managing to keep myself alive without killing in the process (oooh, but how close I've been... just a single move, and it'll look like a silly accident!).... anyways! among those unforseen things that really surprised me as it developed was meeting and starting something with someone who was looking for a relationship as I did (this means, none of us were eager of getting into plans and promises and the kids' name will be) so the expectations were very little, just one day at the time. A little of this, a little of that, oh demons each one likes more and more what finds in each other and after turning the page we had to admit that there was something a little more than just "oh well, I'm with you just because you're here and we can support each other"... I waited for him as he waited for me, we celebrated one year in august and then I flew from my chaotic city to his land, Gatunulandia, or Magyarország (aka. Hungary) and it seems that all this joy and comfort we have with each other remains and the feeling got stronger... I don't know but like we said in the beginning "We'll see what happens"... damn it! I've said that before and I've to put it down "o sea, a nadie he extraniado asi, le doy vueltas al asunto y las cosas caen y encajan por que si... y eso que mas estoy viendo por mi, toy mal pues tio, que quieres q haga, asumir no mas pues, ya pues, como dicen ahi, estoy en el charco y me revuelco con mas felicidad que un chancho" (ha, bien animalito salvaje salio eso)&lt;br /&gt;Fun fact, in 14 months we've had only 3 disagreements, not even "fights", I think the key word here is how easygoing he is, and I love it.&lt;br /&gt;The atmosphere is so peaceful, warm (despite the fact that the temperature was around 0 celsius on my first days) and, even with a language bridge to cross (funny thing is that I get to identify the words they say most of the times but don't ask me about the meaning... I'll get there, if I made it with english, japanese &amp; german, I think I"ll make it) I feel comfortable here... the most probable thing is because Gatunu is here, Thanx Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaatuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. GATUNU!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;surf the wave, ride the mountain... tomalo como venga, quedate con lo mejor, descarta lo que no sirve... esa era la idea de lo que pensaba antes de empezar esta vida de barco. Esta filosofia fue extremadamente util lidiando con situaciones esperadas y no tan visionadas, arreglandomelas para mantenerme viva sin matar en el proceso (oooh, pero que cerca he estado... solo un movimiento, y lucira como un accidente tonto!)... de todas formas! dentro de esas cosas no visionadas que realmente me sorprendieron a medida que se desarrollaron fue conocer y empezar algo con alguien que estaba buscando por una relacion tanto como yo (esto es, ninguno estaba loco por involucrarse en planes y promesas y que nombre tendran los hijos) asi que las expectativas fueron pocas, solo un dia a la vez. Un poco de esto, un poco de lo otro, o diablos a cada uno le gusta mas lo que va encontrando en el otro y despeus de voltear la pagina tuvimos que admitir que habia algo mas que simplemente "oh bien, estoy contigo por que estas aca y nos podemos apoyar uno al otro"... Yo espere por el y el espero por mi, celebramos un anio en agosto y despues vole desde mi caotica ciudad a su tierra, Gatunolandia, o Magyarország (tambien conocido como Hungria) y parece que toda esta alegria y comodidad que tenemos mutuamente se mantiene y el sentimiento es mas fuerte... No se pero como dijimos al principio "veremos que pasa"... diablos! He dicho esto antes y debo escribirlo "I mean, I haven't missed anyone like that, I turn over the issue and things fall and fit just because... and considering that I'm looking after myself, I'm ill dude, what do you want me to do? to asume and that's it, like they say around, I'm in the pud and I'm twisting with more happiness than a pig" (ha, it was very wild little animal kind of thing)&lt;br /&gt;Hecho curioso, en 14 meses hemos tenido solo 3 desacuerdos, nisiquiera "peleas", creo que la palabra clave es cuan tolerante es el, y me encanta.&lt;br /&gt;La atmosfera es tan tranquila, calida (a pesar de que la temperatura estuvo alrededor de los 0 celsius en mis primeros dias) y aun con un puente de idioma que cruzar (lo gracioso es que llego a identificar las palabras que usan con mas frecuencia pero no me pregunten sobre que significan... llegare ahi, si lo hice con ingles, japones y aleman, creo que la hago) me siento comoda aca... y lo mas probable es por que Gatunu esta aqui, Gracias Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaatuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. GATUNU!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1555754155677130494?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1555754155677130494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1555754155677130494' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1555754155677130494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1555754155677130494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2010/02/once-upon-time.html' title='once... upon a time'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4640059263616646787</id><published>2008-07-05T02:18:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-14T03:00:27.161-05:00</updated><title type='text'>there was a time</title><content type='html'>there are things that go through our lives, tken almost like granted, guaranteed, as solid as the earth we live on... but as we grow we leave it or it leaves us, either way, nothing's forever...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;there was a time i would stare at the clock, holding my spoon full of the soup i was eating patiently, and caressly i would think "and in a couple of hours I'll watch Samurai X". Predictable, simple, redundantly without complications and I was happy, not because nothing was out of control... because there was nothing to worry about. Life was incredibly easy for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was easy to fly away with some stories, I barely had to pay attention to the current events to get through them successfully... and although most of my decisions about my life were heavily influenced by others they luckily suited my own desires. Irresponsible I was, in most extents. Tasks were given to me and my own responsibility was to succeed, no less, no more... my pride was too strong to allow myself any other choice. Failure was unthinkable and in fact I was a lucky first timer in many things I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But... my luck didn't last forever. like a credit card, the bill finally arrived and piled one above another as I tried to deny my responsibility on that. Alright, I did the tasks I was given, but it was ages since the last time I took charge of the first and primary task I had, given by no one but myself: my own life. How I got to pay it, easy, with the precise amount of sorrow, pain and tears, regrets are and never were part of the currency, they are just the old bills at the bottom of a pocket that get stuck when you wash them. They are useless but to leave white fibers everywhere, so the best thing to do is to get rid of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember when the wolf and the manslayer fought, it was the most amazing fight I saw ever, even now. I remember the look, I remember the eyes, I remember the character, the tension. I would swear I was there too. the thin line between this and that reality was trespassed once again, 10 minutes? more than enough. That was the time needed to change everything in that story and those character's lives. No one can deny what lies in their own nature, in their own heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was. I am. I will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two of them don't matter at all. Only present matters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a time I would stare at the clock without worries on time, yesterday or tomorrow. There was a time I didn't care about time. And I knew happiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(part of Heart of Sword, by TM Revolution, Rurouni Kenshin, 3rd ending)&lt;br /&gt;Hitori de wa, tooi ashita wo (When I'm alone, tomorrow feels far away.)&lt;br /&gt;Yoake no mama de, koesou de (And I must go over still into the darkness of dawn)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4640059263616646787?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4640059263616646787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4640059263616646787' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4640059263616646787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4640059263616646787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/07/there-was-time.html' title='there was a time'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8387837824529749919</id><published>2008-06-04T02:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T02:45:28.916-05:00</updated><title type='text'>notas</title><content type='html'>pasó un inusual día&lt;br /&gt;inesperado tal cual empezó&lt;br /&gt;sin aviso ni consideración&lt;br /&gt;la montaña de tan sólo desapareció&lt;br /&gt;ese aprecio fue otorgado al mismo grado a todo&lt;br /&gt;y entonces la diferencia dejó de existir&lt;br /&gt;no mas montañas&lt;br /&gt;sólo un vasto plano sin color, sin textura, sin sabor ni sonido&lt;br /&gt;una vasta "nada" que es cualquier cosa menos un vacío&lt;br /&gt;ese sentimiento lo había llenado todo&lt;br /&gt;tal vez yo no he crecido&lt;br /&gt;tal vez sea que aún estoy inmersa en todo ello&lt;br /&gt;pudiendo respirar pero sin reconocer dónde está la superficie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;no siento nada&lt;br /&gt;nada me sobresalta&lt;br /&gt;con impávida sensación dibujo una sonrisa&lt;br /&gt;haciendo memoria de lo que era felicidad&lt;br /&gt;la tristeza me es ajena también&lt;br /&gt;recuerdo ese no tan lejano pasado en el que salté jubilosa por una respuesta&lt;br /&gt;que fue aquello?&lt;br /&gt;que fue esa sensación de volar aun siendo consciente de tener los pies en la tierra?&lt;br /&gt;que fue eso de ser más consciente de que las cosas pueden ser mejor?&lt;br /&gt;como sucedió el poder sentir que a pesar que todo está hecho una mierda, hay esperanza?&lt;br /&gt;sólo un par de eventos y ese sentimiento lo llenó todo&lt;br /&gt;asimilando todo lo demás&lt;br /&gt;regresando casi a lo mismo&lt;br /&gt;a este conjunto unitario, &lt;br /&gt;otra vez como al principio&lt;br /&gt;aunque no tan igual&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;no puedo decir que esto me entristece o me alegra&lt;br /&gt;pues no hay forma en que la nostalgia crezca en un universo ya dominado por el presente&lt;br /&gt;las ilusiones son abortadas mucho antes que sean concebidas&lt;br /&gt;y si en libertad se les deja, simplemente es por distracción&lt;br /&gt;aunque ya no es lo mismo&lt;br /&gt;el truco de magia necesita que el público desconozca el mecanismo de la ilusión&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;es un terreno fértil, lo sé&lt;br /&gt;en esta inhabilidad de volver a cultivar ilusiones ya sólo me queda trabajar con hechos&lt;br /&gt;o pasar estas ilusiones a su forma concreta... los campos en donde una vez corrí, ya sólo los veo y cuando vuelvo a volar, me rio de mi misma&lt;br /&gt;por que descubrí en mí cómo es el truco&lt;br /&gt;por que una de mis pocas diversiones es hallar la sorpresa no descubierta&lt;br /&gt;pero cómo hacerlo si conozco esta forma primaria?&lt;br /&gt;es como haber visto a los payasos maquillarse otra vez&lt;br /&gt;pero el problema es muchísimo mas grave ahora&lt;br /&gt;ya no tengo a donde correr en esta histeria de salvación&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;todos pueden meterse a sus templos, a sus historias y a sus vicios&lt;br /&gt;yo... ya no puedo hacerlo como antes pues&lt;br /&gt;conozco la maquinaria&lt;br /&gt;sólo me queda confrontar las cosas como son&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;y me río de todo ello&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8387837824529749919?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8387837824529749919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8387837824529749919' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8387837824529749919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8387837824529749919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/06/notas.html' title='notas'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2420863200091203429</id><published>2008-05-01T23:18:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T23:21:22.536-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Carta abierta al hijo del Capitán Trueno</title><content type='html'>Ayer no tuvo nada particular, a excepción de la inolvidable e hipnotizante presencia del amante bandido que apareció como un lobo en la noche, en córvido traje encandiló mucho más que un duende superando al juego de luces e imágenes que en el fondo se desplegaba.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Creo en ti hombre, aunque he oido varias veces eso de que los chicos no lloran, apostaría que más de uno no se aguantó las ganas al oir esas canciones que les permitió ganarse el corazón de esa linda amiga aun sin comprender el teorema de amor, les diste suficiente coraje para poder decir te amare antes de morir de amor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mirarte y escucharte fue caminar sobre las hojas secas desde Sevilla hasta de esos jardines frente al mar junto al faro donde el hijo del Capitán Trueno canta a esas sirenas que buscaron alguna vez Gulliver, encontrándose con este sereno personaje que no repara en dar bambú mientras susurra "morenamia" a su nena después de cuestionarse si se la come o no. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La belleza en el mensaje se puso muy por encima de los gritos desesperados del público que casi al final reclamó esa canción que parecía no querías cantar, gracias hombre pues ésta es la última vez que interpretarás esa canción bajo el reflejo en la luna de un sol forastero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;El concierto se me pasó como un suspiro, te propongo un trato, estaré en primera fila, tú sólo mantente en escenarios por más tiempo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahora entre estas reminiscencias, dime entonces, tu que en este período en que yo he vivido has hecho lo que la gana te ha dado, cómo armas todas estas cosas que yo he visto pasar como ilusiones, diseccionado, analizando y sintetizando hasta casi armar fórmulas de eventos y sucesiones infinitas que arman todo como previsible, que han convertido ese panorama gobernado por picos sorpresas, tormentas, retos y misterios en un estéril plano sin más a la vista que el delgado horizonte que apenas sirve de recordatorio de discernimiento entre el cielo y la tierra, el mar queda lejos y lo jalo a mis espaldas... dime tú que has podido comprender todo ese sentimiento en tus canciones, es tan sujeto a nuestras decisiones, a nuestras ganas de creer? a nuestras necesidades?&lt;br /&gt;Ayer te escuché y me permití creer que no se trataron de líneas chapuceras, recurrentes venideras en el momento que el mercader viene a reclamar por su tajada peor que el mecenas que sólo espera ser inmoralizado en alguna obra de sus protegidos.&lt;br /&gt;Mientras espero tu respuesta sé que algo es muy cierto, quienes con franqueza no esperan un espejo para reconocerse, no están solos... gracias por estar ahi, no dejaré de cantar, sólo te pido sigas ahí disponible para verte otra vez pues siendo francos, si tu no vuelves, yo te busco para volverte a ver.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2420863200091203429?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2420863200091203429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2420863200091203429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2420863200091203429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2420863200091203429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/05/carta-abierta-al-hijo-del-capitn-trueno.html' title='Carta abierta al hijo del Capitán Trueno'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4322978064411052377</id><published>2008-04-28T00:33:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T00:33:33.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'>28</title><content type='html'>ah pasado mucho tiempo desde la última vez que hice una invocación para celebrar mi cumpleaños... 13 años aproximadamente&lt;br /&gt;mi sorpresa fue variada, entre rostros ausentes y otros presentes que casi desconocí así como aquellos, aunque distantes, no se borraron en el tiempo... familia y amigos, en esencia para mi son lo mismo&lt;br /&gt;no pedi deseo alguno al soplar las velas, no por que ya no haya nada que desear sino por que a estas alturas de mi existencia se que lo mejor es simplemente hacer que las cosas sucedan&lt;br /&gt;supongo que este es el tipo de cosas que suelen suceder cuando los años pasan&lt;br /&gt;lindo precedente para lo que se viene...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4322978064411052377?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4322978064411052377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4322978064411052377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4322978064411052377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4322978064411052377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/04/28.html' title='28'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2564813042495687141</id><published>2008-03-07T02:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T13:03:38.415-05:00</updated><title type='text'>intermezzo 5</title><content type='html'>la vida monastica esta rayando en lo insoportable para mi persona... NECESITO algo que invite a tener vértigo, superar algún reto decente que no implique necesariamente fechas límite sino algo que resuelva la vida de un momento a otro... las dunas de Ica me invitan a lanzarme por una corrida de casi 2 km asi que, a terminar mi más reciente misión y entonces, como dijo alguien, "reach for the sky"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the monastic life is scratching the unbearable for me... I NEED something that invites me to feel some vertigo, surpass some decent challenge that doesn't necesarily imply a deadline but resolves life from one instant to another... the dunes of Ica are inviting me to throw myself to a 2 km run so, let's finish my most recent mission and then, like somebody said, "reach for the sky"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;02:30:15&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2564813042495687141?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2564813042495687141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2564813042495687141' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2564813042495687141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2564813042495687141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/03/intermezzo-5.html' title='intermezzo 5'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2188096679275077600</id><published>2008-03-05T23:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T13:02:52.675-05:00</updated><title type='text'>tenia</title><content type='html'>ayer yo recorde,&lt;br /&gt;cuando en un concurso de poesía&lt;br /&gt;con este texto me presenté&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"largo poema para su edad"&lt;br /&gt;quizás algunos pensarían&lt;br /&gt;"tituberá y algunas líneas se comerá"&lt;br /&gt;entre murmuros callados esconderían&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pero no fue así&lt;br /&gt;poema sugerido por mi madre y con su ayuda pude yo aprenderme éste y muchos textos más&lt;br /&gt;pues ya antes me había adiestrado sin cesar&lt;br /&gt;en este arte/oficio de tomar palabra ajena&lt;br /&gt;y tentar a las musas invocar,&lt;br /&gt;a Caliope y Talía de preferencia&lt;br /&gt;pues mis temas en esos días&lt;br /&gt;aventuras y travesuras incluían&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;y este es un poema,&lt;br /&gt;que para mi sorpresa aún puedo retomar&lt;br /&gt;con tan sólo oir las primeras líneas&lt;br /&gt;para con el resto sólo continuar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lo leo otra vez y con satisfacción sonrío&lt;br /&gt;de poder contener hasta ahora&lt;br /&gt;este lindo poema/cuento/historia&lt;br /&gt;escrito alguna vez por Ruben Darío&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Margarita Debayle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Margarita está linda la mar,&lt;br /&gt;y el viento,&lt;br /&gt;lleva esencia sutil de azahar;&lt;br /&gt;yo siento&lt;br /&gt;en el alma una alondra cantar;&lt;br /&gt;tu acento:&lt;br /&gt;Margarita, te voy a contar&lt;br /&gt;un cuento:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esto era un rey que tenía&lt;br /&gt;un palacio de diamantes,&lt;br /&gt;una tienda hecha de día&lt;br /&gt;y un rebaño de elefantes,&lt;br /&gt;un kiosko de malaquita,&lt;br /&gt;un gran manto de tisú,&lt;br /&gt;y una gentil princesita,&lt;br /&gt;tan bonita,&lt;br /&gt;Margarita,&lt;br /&gt;tan bonita, como tú.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Una tarde, la princesa&lt;br /&gt;vio una estrella aparecer;&lt;br /&gt;la princesa era traviesa&lt;br /&gt;y la quiso ir a coger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La quería para hacerla&lt;br /&gt;decorar un prendedor,&lt;br /&gt;con un verso y una perla&lt;br /&gt;y una pluma y una flor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Las princesas primorosas&lt;br /&gt;se parecen mucho a ti:&lt;br /&gt;cortan lirios, cortan rosas,&lt;br /&gt;cortan astros. Son así.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pues se fue la niña bella,&lt;br /&gt;bajo el cielo y sobre el mar,&lt;br /&gt;a cortar la blanca estrella&lt;br /&gt;que la hacía suspirar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y siguió camino arriba,&lt;br /&gt;por la luna y más allá;&lt;br /&gt;más lo malo es que ella iba&lt;br /&gt;sin permiso de papá.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cuando estuvo ya de vuelta&lt;br /&gt;de los parques del Señor,&lt;br /&gt;se miraba toda envuelta&lt;br /&gt;en un dulce resplandor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y el rey dijo: «¿Qué te has hecho?&lt;br /&gt;te he buscado y no te hallé;&lt;br /&gt;y ¿qué tienes en el pecho&lt;br /&gt;que encendido se te ve?».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La princesa no mentía.&lt;br /&gt;Y así, dijo la verdad:&lt;br /&gt;«Fui a cortar la estrella mía&lt;br /&gt;a la azul inmensidad».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y el rey clama: «¿No te he dicho&lt;br /&gt;que el azul no hay que cortar?.&lt;br /&gt;¡Qué locura!, ¡Qué capricho!...&lt;br /&gt;El Señor se va a enojar».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y ella dice: «No hubo intento;&lt;br /&gt;yo me fui no sé por qué.&lt;br /&gt;Por las olas por el viento&lt;br /&gt;fui a la estrella y la corté».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y el papá dice enojado:&lt;br /&gt;«Un castigo has de tener:&lt;br /&gt;vuelve al cielo y lo robado&lt;br /&gt;vas ahora a devolver».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La princesa se entristece&lt;br /&gt;por su dulce flor de luz,&lt;br /&gt;cuando entonces aparece&lt;br /&gt;sonriendo el Buen Jesús.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y así dice: «En mis campiñas&lt;br /&gt;esa rosa le ofrecí;&lt;br /&gt;son mis flores de las niñas&lt;br /&gt;que al soñar piensan en mí».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Viste el rey pompas brillantes,&lt;br /&gt;y luego hace desfilar&lt;br /&gt;cuatrocientos elefantes&lt;br /&gt;a la orilla de la mar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La princesita está bella,&lt;br /&gt;pues ya tiene el prendedor&lt;br /&gt;en que lucen, con la estrella,&lt;br /&gt;verso, perla, pluma y flor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Margarita, está linda la mar,&lt;br /&gt;y el viento&lt;br /&gt;lleva esencia sutil de azahar:&lt;br /&gt;tu aliento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ya que lejos de mí vas a estar,&lt;br /&gt;guarda, niña, un gentil pensamiento&lt;br /&gt;al que un día te quiso contar&lt;br /&gt;un cuento.&lt;br /&gt;23:55:21&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2188096679275077600?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2188096679275077600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2188096679275077600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2188096679275077600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2188096679275077600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/03/tenia.html' title='tenia'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2948470019768979133</id><published>2008-02-29T02:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T13:01:52.312-05:00</updated><title type='text'>4U on this 29th / Anniversary!</title><content type='html'>every 4 years we have an "extra" day (gregorian imprecision at mankind's service)... and it makes me look back and try to see what was going on in my life back in the last 29th...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;damn it... i was a full disaster, i didn't looked like that but inside i was a mess, trying to run away from the train of consequences and responsibilities i went deeper and deeper into the hole i digged to hide my head... (now that i notice, 1980 was a leap year too) anyway... 2004 was a year for a change and cleansing of the dirt i got into (snow seems to have been the best for that meaning)&lt;br /&gt;Like every cycle, it had its up and downs... I've done things I've never thought I'd be capable to do and met wonderful people who enriched the view I had of the world. I'm still diminute in front of the whole existence, I still hold the pride that kept the mask high in my awful days but now it's not to hide something but to recognize and praise the greatness of the aspects of life I'm able to see and feel now like never before.&lt;br /&gt;What I thought was love then, is nothing but a ridiculous illusion of an emotional patch compared of what I've learned until now. Friendship has become stronger and concrete. Life, with all its twists and surprises is more inmense and beautiful, it's not frightening anymore in any sense... idk, I could go on with this part until march... so this is an extra day before the next month starts, to pay something, to get something, to say something, idk... pick whatever you have promised to do before this month ends and juice this day at its fullest and let it be a reminder of what can you do every day, because you know? life's too beautiful to take it just by granted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW!!! whoever said that "what happens in Hunter/T-ville, stays in Hunter/Tville" didn't know about this... today is the 365th day living with my tattoo, so here's a short explanation of what it means&lt;br /&gt;5 for my family members (including me)&lt;br /&gt;snowflakes for Hunter&lt;br /&gt;strategically located in the end of the cervical curve (the number of the vertebrae has a meaning quite long to put here and it's precise for working/formal dressing)&lt;br /&gt;all seeming to be covered by snow but the tip of the middle is not, "you can go surpass this you've done it before" is what I had in mind, like spring after the cold season completing the paradox because I love snow (even when I had to shovel it at 1am to have my way out of E1E for the next day!)&lt;br /&gt;this tattoo is a graphic synopsis of the hit-and-miss that my life in NY/Hunter/Tville has been until now (for I have NY as a target to visit asap!) with some other meanings that could be shared in other conversation...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and regardless of the annoying feeling when Dan (T-ville) was working on the vertebrae... I'm thinking of a drawing of Sun Wukong completing the scene!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;farewell people, be safe, stay happy, healthy and with a sincere smile on your face for it's the greatest way to prove how beautiful you're! love you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today's song: running down a dream - tom petty &amp;amp; the heartbreakers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;02:41:06&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2948470019768979133?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2948470019768979133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2948470019768979133' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2948470019768979133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2948470019768979133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/4u-on-this-29th-anniversary.html' title='4U on this 29th / Anniversary!'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4394257281650118359</id><published>2008-02-27T12:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T13:00:53.180-05:00</updated><title type='text'>intermezzo 4.5</title><content type='html'>mice's advice for today:&lt;br /&gt;don't mix (again) a high dose of imaginative stories and postponed sleep the night before you have to go to work.. the consequences can reach disastrous levels, such as these I'm going through now... it's not the fact that I'm pretty fine with all the sleep, not even the semi-dream-nightmare I had, not even other sensations or the surprising slowness of my laptop... it's the feeling of waking up thinking "are you sure? is this the place I was 'supposed to come back?" and even half an hour after my awakening I have to write it down to get the complete feeling of "reality"... hell, I think it'd be funnier if I knew the Jīndǒuyún technique!... but considering the pollution, what the hell, it'd be funnier anyway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:27:52&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4394257281650118359?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4394257281650118359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4394257281650118359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4394257281650118359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4394257281650118359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/intermezzo-45.html' title='intermezzo 4.5'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7498904512611750620</id><published>2008-02-27T04:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T12:59:36.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sabiduría popular / popular wisdom</title><content type='html'>(from a friend's conversation with his father)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for the souls whose chests still burns for somebody, I tell you this from my heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"three things you must have for certain of that person who reigns your dreams and desire:&lt;br /&gt;1. somebody has discarded them&lt;br /&gt;2. somebody can't stand being next to them&lt;br /&gt;3. out of the place where that person came from... trust me, can come out at least 20 more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so don't martirize your heart, neither put the heaviness of an altar, for that person is like any other human being, who eats, laughs, sleeps and like everyone, has to shit."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;esta historia y tres lineas fueron pasadas de generación en generación en la familia de un amigo, ahora las transmito para beneficio de la humanidad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"las 3 ratas"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Érase tres ratas en un lado de la autopista, cavilando en cómo poder pasar y al notar que no podrían hacerlo cada quien por su lado, resolvieron que lo más sabio sería entre sí la ayuda prestar.&lt;br /&gt;Así la primera rata asomó la cabeza, que por un pelo casi se queda sin nariz, ya al tomar más valor fijóse bien a ambos lados y empezó a la otra rata indicar: "ahora! pasa! espérate! ya!"... y al fin, la segunda rata pudo pasar&lt;br /&gt;Estando en la otra orilla, la segunda rata correpondió la ayuda, indicando con mayor astucia los momentos de correr y brucamente parar, pudiendo así la primera rata, toda la autopista atravesar.&lt;br /&gt;La tercera ya con más confianza, teniendo a sus dos compinches muy al frente, que sin restarle ánimo ni valentía, le indicaron cuándo el paso apresurar y cuándo inmóvil se debía quedar... pero ay, si una voz ya es confusa en momento de tensión, dos son casi por seguro una total perdición asi que esta tercera rata por poco quedó como latón pues un furibundo camión pasó a velocidad tal, que si bien la vida perdonó, con su rabo de premio sujetó... y ay, ay, ay, tercera rata al otro extremo llegó, y al la cola mochada con ira replicó: "no! yo no sigo sin mi cola, sin mi rabo no sigo yo, ya veré como le hago después, me lo coso, parcho o pego, pero sin mi rabo de aquí no avanzaré yo!"&lt;br /&gt;las dos primeras ratas inútilmente trataron de hacerle notar que más valía un rabo perdido que vida entregada, que al final, la cola no valía nada... inútiles esfuerzos y jalones, la tercera rata, hacia su rabo perdido se dirigió&lt;br /&gt;Y metióse a la autopista, pudiendo con destreza inesperada evitar, un trailer, un triciclo y hasta una van pero ya cuando el rabo en sus manos tuvo y en regocijante celebración... un mínimo scooter se convirtió en su última visión...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;y así es mis amig@s que nace este refrán&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"por más que quieras meter la rata, jamás pierdas la cabeza por un rabo"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;y para las almas que por alguna persona aún sientan que su pecho se enciende en llamas les digo esto de corazón:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"tres cosas debes tener por ciertas de esa persona en cuestion:&lt;br /&gt;1. Alguien ya le ha despreciado y/o descartado&lt;br /&gt;2. Alguien no soporta tenerle a su lado&lt;br /&gt;3. De donde vino esa persona... créeme, salen por lo menos 20 mas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;asi que a tu corazón no martirizes, ni tampoco le pongas el peso de un altar pues aquella persona es como cualquier ser humano, que come, ríe, duerme y como todos, ha de cagar"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;04:03:50&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7498904512611750620?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7498904512611750620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7498904512611750620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7498904512611750620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7498904512611750620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/sabidura-popular-popular-wisdom.html' title='sabiduría popular / popular wisdom'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-9056228753311246886</id><published>2008-02-26T22:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T12:57:19.804-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the good, the bad and the deeds - for those about to rock...</title><content type='html'>it's great to find myself after a somewhat long journey and being closer than never before to the comprehension of the fact that happiness depends more than anything on myself than anything else in this world and, without denying the intoxicating feeling provided by a especial relationship, it's not the only way to taste and the best things in this life... in the end it's all about love and in this state everyone can be given the same share with not distinction, demons, if i keep this way i might reach sanctity... being comfortable with oneself is the very first step... weird, considering the mountain of defects I have (but if murderers are saints now, damn it! it shouldn't surprise me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyway, taking everything with more easiness than ever before, it's like a undetermined vacation... there's more than a source to smile for, also more to be sad for, but it's living the whole range is refreshing too&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the not so great thing is to see again, almost like in those childhood days, how some friends depart because they're with somebody, some heading towards something new, others towards the same wall with different paint or another wall the with same paint... even though it's great for them (for knowing what it's known by now), I can't deny that it's an awesome stage too, either it's just a plain illusion or something better, the fact is that they'll learn as I've done at least and the only thing they'll lose is their ignorance...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;still, for those about rock (again if it's the case) with their hearts, sleeves, games or whatever they're up to... I salute you! remember that if this one goes for real, don't look in this new person for a memory and don't even think of blaming them for the failures of all the old ones... besides that... as long as there's air in your lungs and conscience in your body the world is yours!...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well... nowadays I appreciate this status more than the other, could be it be due to the long time that I always had someone to share with the space that I have in me for myself? may be, but you won't deny that it's not the same... doing the Dakar Rally on a bike it's not the same as doing it with a co-pilot, it might be the same road but it's the way you make it... as far as it concerns me I'm enjoying the view and I can share it with everyone although in some special ocassions (birthdays) deserve a particular deference (coming soon: the "Burning Retins" album! available in the photo section of this profile!!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but well, it's about each one's wellness, isn't it? in company or flying solo, the fact is that now i see that there's a balance between true-singles (those who really are ok with that status and are not eagerly looking for something else) and those with a relationship in mind. It's good for the weekends and any other night/day out. I can hang from a tree and run up the hill or just stay upthere in some branch pondering about the mosquito's immortality and the prairie dog's omnipresence... nobody's expecting me, I'm at nobody's altar, and as far as I know, I'm nobody's target as I'm expecting for nobody, nobody's at any personal altar and I have nobody in mind... and you know... it feels soooo damn good... unnatural? may be, but so far I've tricked enough laws of "how a girl must be" that I really don't care if this is just another case... the monkey's on the loose but happy, so don't be afraid!&lt;br /&gt;22:25:52&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-9056228753311246886?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/9056228753311246886/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=9056228753311246886' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9056228753311246886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9056228753311246886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/good-bad-and-deeds-for-those-about-to.html' title='the good, the bad and the deeds - for those about to rock...'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8959720468669794644</id><published>2008-02-26T01:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T12:48:17.021-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a veces quisiera /.../ sometimes i wish</title><content type='html'>01:51:30 am&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;no tener que dormir... y otras no tener que despertar&lt;br /&gt;no tener que salir de mi metro cuadrado... y otras extender mi área hasta el infinito o hasta cansarme&lt;br /&gt;reírme en tu cara de ti... y otras simplemente sonreír por el placer de conocerte&lt;br /&gt;saltar en parapente... y saltar en paracaídas... o hacer skydiving!&lt;br /&gt;y a mis 27 casi 28 me he vuelto una paradoja de epicureísta-nihilista&lt;br /&gt;aunque no puedo evitar llegar a la conclusión de que, en toda esta ilusión/realidad, el sentido de las cosas está muy sujeto a la subjetividad de cada quien... tampoco puedo evitar el gran placer que me causa disfrutar cada una de estas efímeras trivialidades que componen el día a día... efímeramente delicioso, satisfactorio y encandilante, esas cosas que hacen sonreír a uno y cambiar de semblante por más de un segundo... siempre y cuando no sea interrumpido por el terrible "para que?" o "por que?"... si, tal vez me doy demasiadas licencias intelectualoides y es muy probable que sea producto del tiempo libre del cual gozo... pero vamos, mirate al espejo y convéncete que nunca se te ha pasado algo así por la cabeza... pues si es así, genial! eso significa que el aura orate no te ha tocado... aun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i didn't have to sleep... and others that i didn't have to wake up&lt;br /&gt;not having to get out of my square meter... and others to extend my area to the infinite or until i get tired&lt;br /&gt;laugh of you at your face... and others simply to smile for the pleasure of knowing you&lt;br /&gt;doing paragliding... and parachuting... and skydiving!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and at my 27 almost 28 i've become a epicureist-nihilist paradox&lt;br /&gt;although i can't help reaching the conclusion that, in this illusion/reality, the sense of the things is subject to each one's subjectivity... neither i can help the pleasure that causes me to enjoy each one of these ephemeral trivialities that compose the day by day... ephemerally delicious, satisfactory and dazzling, those things that make one smile and change the countenance for more than one second... provided that it isn't interrupted by the terrible "what for?" or "why?"... yes, i might be giving myself too many intellectualoid licences and it's very probable that it's a product of the spare time that i enjoy of... but come on, take a look of yourself in the mirror and convince yourself that nothing like that ever crossed your mind... for if it's so, cool! that means that the "aura orate" hasn't touched you... yet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;++++++++++++++&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26.02.08 - 00.46&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tren de enlaces&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;por la animación conocí a cálico electrónico (y me reí como si me pagaran por hacerlo)&lt;br /&gt;por cálico electrónico conocí the fucking shit&lt;br /&gt;por the fucking shit conocí despacho 101/memorias de un ingeniero&lt;br /&gt;y en estas últimas dos páginas encontré un pequeño oasis de respiro al saber que tal vez eso de inconsciente colectivo es más que una simple teoría en esta sociedad humana...&lt;br /&gt;y que no se diga que la animación es sólo para niñ@s!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8959720468669794644?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8959720468669794644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8959720468669794644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8959720468669794644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8959720468669794644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/veces-quisiera-sometimes-i-wish.html' title='a veces quisiera /.../ sometimes i wish'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6866632985981389830</id><published>2008-02-23T22:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T12:45:45.544-05:00</updated><title type='text'>intermezzo 4</title><content type='html'>frases del dia:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Debido a la alineación planetaria durante el tercer plenilunio del presente ciclo solar coexistente con la eclosión estadística de suelos eólicos y meteoros aluviales dependientes del índice de crecimiento financiero de las tasas de interés mundial afectados por la mitosis anversa en las mitocontrias del paralelo 42° sur mediante el cisma filológico post-para-traumático de polifacéticos multinacionales: Barney es el hijo gay de Godzilla&lt;br /&gt;- La ira es más productiva que la desesperación&lt;br /&gt;- Un arco iris! (no es broma, arco iris en Lima, después de una "copiosa" lluvia veraniega)&lt;br /&gt;- Madre, estamos pensando lo mismo!!! (debió ser efecto del arco iris pues casi siempre estamos en diferentes estaciones)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22:46:17&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6866632985981389830?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6866632985981389830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6866632985981389830' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6866632985981389830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6866632985981389830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/intermezzo-4.html' title='intermezzo 4'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6188347823520739844</id><published>2008-02-21T12:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:17:17.185-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sazonamiento verbal /.../ verbal seasoning</title><content type='html'>una vez alguien dijo que yo hablaba de forma algo complicada y sin embargo, todo sonaba tan bonito y legible... curioso pues mi padre no es precisamente un orador y de él he heredado la forma directa y casi aniquilante forma de decir las cosas, por otro lado mi madre tiene una forma de hablar tan accesible que si bien es dulce, no parece ser complicada.&lt;br /&gt;supongo que es la lectura, hecho que he confirmado parcialmente al conversar con un primo el cual tiene muchas más líneas picadas que yo (de algo influyó la divergencia de carreras pues él es abogado) pero ahora que escucho al actual presidente del variopinto país del cual soy ciudadana y residente... comienzo a considerar que es ya parte del inconsciente colectivo local con más de 500 años comiéndose melífluos discursillos que hacen brillar hasta al menos pintao'.&lt;br /&gt;sólo es una reflexión, claro, sin ánimos de ensalzar ni menoscabar una de las más graciosas características que me encuentro en común con parte de la población local... y como le dije a alguien alguna vez, un recordatorio de esa tradición de usar figuras, rodeos y anteponer 3 adjetivos antes del sustantivo, acciones que a veces, simplemente no se me da la gana de evitar...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;once somebody said that i talked in a somewhat complicated way but, everything sounded so pretty and legible... curious for my father is not precisely an orator and from him i've inherited the direct and almost annihilating form of expressing the things, on the other hand, my mother has a way of speaking which is so accesible and sweet, that it doesn't seem to be complicated at all.&lt;br /&gt;i guess it's the reading, fact that i've partially confirmed when talking with a cousin who has picked more lines that me (somehow the careers divergence influenced for he's a lawyer) but now that i listen to the president of the assorted country of which i'm a citizen and resident... i start to consider that it's part of the local collective conscience with more than 500 years eating mellow speechies that made shine even the less painted.&lt;br /&gt;it's only a reflection, of course, without any meaning of extolling or lessenning one of the most gracious features that i find in common with part of the local population... and like i said to someone once, a reminder of that tradition of using figures, roundabouts and place 3 adjectives before the subject, actions that sometimes, i simply don't feel in the mood to avoid...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:39:01&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6188347823520739844?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6188347823520739844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6188347823520739844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6188347823520739844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6188347823520739844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/sazonamiento-verbal-verbal-seasoning.html' title='sazonamiento verbal /.../ verbal seasoning'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-9056603027237127158</id><published>2008-02-21T01:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T12:41:23.666-05:00</updated><title type='text'>To post and to share</title><content type='html'>I wrote something last night, and this morning I found this song with a video that really explained all my scribbles in 221 seconds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YUxbDEPFiM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nothing else to say... just keep yourself at least as great as I remember you ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;01:33:25 AM&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-9056603027237127158?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/9056603027237127158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=9056603027237127158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9056603027237127158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9056603027237127158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/to-post-and-to-share.html' title='To post and to share'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4697172605287074993</id><published>2008-02-20T12:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:18:08.109-05:00</updated><title type='text'>pensamiento sobre la pena capital</title><content type='html'>Si los delitos se pudieran limpiar definitivamente de un solo plomazo, me hubieran tenido en primera fila repartiendo balas... pero no es asi... la gracia es que los crimenes no disminuyen en lugares donde la pena capital esta aceptada... pues por ultimo la gente es lo suficientemente inconsciente en ese momento como para ponerse a pensar en su propia vida cuando estan cometiendo el delito o por ultimo les importa un reverendo rabano (psicopatas wannabe con delirios de grandeza hay para regalar)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;El otro detalle es que muchas veces se mando a freir, colgar o plomear a quienes no tenian la culpa y el hecho de haberlos sacado en la pijama de madera no revirtio en absoluto los hechos ni mucho menos trajo mayor paz a quienes perdieron a sus seres queridos en manos de los condenados.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Muchos crimenes son bastante aberrantes, un recordatorio de los extremos a los que puede llegar el ser humano en ciertas circunstancias y recurrir al facilismo de tratar de limpiarlo de un plumazo es tan efectivo como tratar de curar el cancer extirpando el tumor, pues tan solo se combate la consecuencia pero no la raiz del mismo, por lo que puede peligrosamente resurgir y hasta con mayor fuerza en alguna otra forma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Solucion? para empezar concientizar a la gente en el hecho que se merecen respeto y por ende tienen derechos como cualquier otro ser vivo pues dia a dia nos van acostumbrando al abuso y el maltrato en nuestros trabajos, en la calle, en todo lados! lo que va dejando un callo que nos permite vivir con indiferencia y/o ignorancia del sufrimiento ajeno sin preguntarnos el por que de las acciones propias o de los demas preocupandonos solo cuando salpica directamente y tomandolo de una manera personal cuando bien podria tratarse de una costumbre o reaccion recurrente adoptada por quien viene a agriar el dia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:44:52&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4697172605287074993?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4697172605287074993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4697172605287074993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4697172605287074993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4697172605287074993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/pensamiento-sobre-la-pena-capital.html' title='pensamiento sobre la pena capital'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2183893856767120331</id><published>2008-02-20T10:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T10:58:53.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'>musique, musique MUSIQUE!!!</title><content type='html'>TOOOODA la parrafada anterior (mandando al diablo al resto) esta magnificamente mejor explicada, expresada y hasta entendible en esta cancion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YUxbDEPFiM"&gt;Yael Naim - New Soul&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ya si con la cancion y el video no entienden... no se preocupen, eventualmente lo haran&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2183893856767120331?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2183893856767120331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2183893856767120331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2183893856767120331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2183893856767120331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/musique-musique-musique.html' title='musique, musique MUSIQUE!!!'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6346449707103452816</id><published>2008-02-18T23:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T23:04:29.657-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mandando al diablo al resto</title><content type='html'>Tenia 4 o 5 años cuando aprendí que no había escape o salida de la realidad, en esos días también aprendí que era la muerte, un par de años después el término "extinción" formó parte de mi vocabulario al leer sobre el dodo y enterarme sobre otras especies y lloré pues todos esos seres fueron víctimas de la estupidez humana y yo ahí sin poder hacer nada mas que llorar. Ecología, Biología, entonces quise ser bióloga e internarme para conocer todo aquello y hallar la forma de salvar a tantos seres vivos que nada tenían de culpa ni por qué pagar la vanidad y holgazanería humana... consideré ser cazadora furtiva de cazadores furtivos pues, hasta esta fecha, no sé por dónde le llaman deporte a la amplia ventaja que se ganan al apostarse tranquilitos con su equipo y armas para pegarle un tiro a un animal ya sea por su carne, y no por que no pudieran conseguir otra fuente de comida sino por que diablos se yo, o por lucir su cabeza embalsamada en alguna parte de su casa como una extensión de qué tan superior se podían sentir frente a los demás mortales que no habían hecho lo mismo, tristes remedos humanos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inevitablemente eso no fue lo único que poco a poco me fue ampliando el concepto utópico que había estado aprendiendo del mundo mediante historias ficticias y las que a la fecha ya no se si llamar "reales" pues valgan verdades, la historia que se enseña en el colegio está mas maquillada y remachada que actriz porno de 45. El punto es que la línea repetida era "el mundo ES así pues, TIENES que acostumbrarte".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y quizás fue un poco mi abstracción o falta de atención pero no entendía. De qué servían las repetidas promociones de "sinceridad" si es que era muy probable ser censurado y/o castigado si es que uno expresaba lo que realmente sentia? Para que diablos remarcaban la importancia del esfuerzo por mérito propio si a vista y paciencia todos bajaban la cabeza o sonreían condescendientemente ante casos de favoritismo con billetera o apariencia? Cómo ratones se atrevían a resaltar esa línea de "todos somos iguales" (ante dios y el estado) si sin el menor cuidado hacían despliegues de discriminación de diversa índole? Que alguien me lance el libreto por que yo ya perdí mi linea en este espectáculo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aun así jugué la carta de mandar al diablo al resto, en buena parte por que no veía por que tendría yo que entenderles más pues aparentemente, no me reportaría mayor utilidad. Así seguí en esa marejada de contradicciones encontré fuentes de distracción dentro y fuera de casa, usé algunas y vi a otros abusar de otras. El mundo que me había creído de chica aún existía en una cajita y mostraba en diferentes ratos del día en historias de media, una y dos horas. Era feliz, hay algo a qué aferrarse, algo coherente y... NO! no me digas que es sólo la televisión pues eso ES real, no me rompas otra vez la ilusión... aunque poquito a poco, una vez mas, me di cuenta que las deformaciones también estaban en esas cajitas. Clasificaciones, determinaciones, inmutabilidades, un reflejo de la basura en la que se iba hundiendo todo, era una simbiosis entre esas dos realidades. Los lindos serán los ganadores, los feos seran los perdedores. La chica bonita es un pan de dios y a la gorda morocha mejor que se la lleve el tren (y si es por debajo, mejor).&lt;br /&gt;La anoréxica rubia de plástico sonreía en cualquier locación y empleo al tiempo que su siempre sonriente eterno novio de porte similar estaría ahí esperándola siempre, un modelo de tal cómo todas las niñas buenas deben ser con el prototipo de hombre que conseguirán mientras más se parezcan a ella. Muestra tus dientes pero no tu corazón. Nunca me pareció que debía ser así pues para empezar, ni me interesaba ser rubia ni tener novio para ser feliz. Yo era feliz trepándome a un árbol, corriendo, jugando, leyendo y con música para que diablos meterme en algo que nisiquiera me llama la atención ni mucho menos entiendo? en fin, el punto es que pasé años distraida, tratando de ignorar lo que aquí pasaba, entre mandando a volar al resto y refugiándome en historias alternas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inevitable fue el momento en que, de tanto cerrarle la puerta al invierno, la nieve se acumuló en mi puerta y la derrumbó, dejando entrar la luz y permitiéndome ver la miseria e inmundicia en la que me había abandonado por no querer salir a enfrentar lo que había afuera.&lt;br /&gt;Lo que creía un suntuoso castillo era un triste cuchitril atiborrado de cachivaches con títulos y nombres, las ventanas que tanto me negué a ver estaban cubiertas de parches mal cortados y mal dibujados que había pegado, aunque siempre lo hacía cada vez que había que arreglarlos. Al apoyarme en las paredes las noté hechas de retazos de basura y mientras iba reconociendo las costuras que alguna vez hice estas se fueron cayendo poco a poco...&lt;br /&gt;No habian armaduras, mucho menos armas, la gran fortaleza se desvanecía pues nisiquiera era algo sólido para derrumbarse a medida de que yo, poniendo al lado ese temor que tuve por tanto tiempo, aceptaba mi responsabilidad en todo lo dicho y hecho así como en mis omisiones, dejando que todo se fuera cayendo para enfrentar lo que tanto temí por todo ese tiempo. Había tomado esa resolución y en el fondo, sabía que ya no había nada que perder, ni castillo, ni armadura, ni reino ni nada. Todo el tiempo sólo había sido yo y nadie mas en ese lugar, todo lo demás fueron títeres y marionetas con las alimentaba mi ego y mimaba mis caprichos.&lt;br /&gt;Al fin le estaba haciendo caso a esa vocecita que todo el tiempo me recordaba que no podía estar evadiendo los hechos, que no tenía por que tener miedo, que todo ese armatoste era una mala mentira que ni yo me la creía completamente.&lt;br /&gt;Para cuando todo se termino desarmar, me di cuenta que afuera no había nada realmente que hiriera, que todo el tiempo era mas yo misma castigándome por cosas que no me quería perdonar a pesar que sabía que eso no regresaría mis errores ni mucho menos haría sentir mejor a las personas a las que falté. También noté que en sí todo eso ya había pasado y las consecuencias no me habían quitado realmente nada importante, aún conservaba mi vida, mi libertad de consciencia y a pesar de todo, aún contaba con el afecto de las personas que estuvieron conmigo desde el inicio así como de otras que, por muy grandes que yo viera mis propios defectos, podían ver que tenía virtudes. Entonces me dije, "ves?, sabes que no eres perfecta, y eso está bien, no significa que te duermas en tus laureles sino que siendo consciente de esto ya no cometas las mismas sandeces!, en el fondo sabes que eres una buena persona, sé consciente de ello más seguido!".&lt;br /&gt;Fue entonces que di mi primer paso y me comprobé una vez más que muchas veces era más la tragedia y el drama que uno se armaba lo que provocaba las "heridas" y las mantenía "abiertas" pues en sí, nada es "personal" aquí. Inclusive las acciones deliberadas de una persona a otra, a menos que se trate de una amenaza provocada por un@, lo más probable es que los ataques sean una expresión de la bronca personal que el atacante tiene consigo mismo pues hay algo en nosotros que le hace recordar dicho conflicto y en su intento de evitar la confrontación interna, opta por el facilismo de echarle la culpa a alguien más. Así se me fue también el gusto por los halagos, pues de la misma manera, en lugar de retenerlos como míos ya comencé a devolverlos pero con sinceridad pues la gente no había hecho otra cosa que reconocer aquello hermoso de sí en otra persona, que en este caso sería yo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No hay más motivos para "refugiarse"... la sensación de la lluvia, la nieve, el río, el sol, cada ruido y canción se hacen tan agradables como un@ se permita percibirlos si se abre honestamente.&lt;br /&gt;Nisiquiera por qué andar esquivo, calculando con precisión cada movimiento y palabra para orientar todo hacia lo que un@ cree más conveniente pues, llámenme cándida si quieren, la vida arma mejor las cosas de lo que un@ mism@ jamás podría concebir. Pensaré en retractarme el día que salga a la luz un artefacto creado por el ser humano comparable a cualquier ser vivo en todos sus aspectos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En este estado tan animado, con toda la energía del mundo concentrada en cada célula de mi ser miré alrededor y ratones, me pasmó la inercia de la gente. &lt;br /&gt;En cierta forma comprendí pues yo también había estado en la misma inercia, dejando la modalidad de piloto automático por más de una década haciendo las cosas básicas que se esperaban de mí sin mayor problema ni complicación pues en mi madriguera personal, yo estaba en mi refugio seguro y nadie podía tocarme. &lt;br /&gt;Vi inercia por miedo pues cada vez que trataron de ir por otro lado siempre hubo quien le gritaba "TE VAS A MATAR! TE VAS A CAER! TE VA DOLER!!!" y si alguna vez cayeron esas mismas voces se repitieron haciendo más intenso el dolor. &lt;br /&gt;Vi inercia por costumbre en tristes ojos que repetían el ritual sin atreverse a preguntar por qué, simplemente lo seguían quizás con la esperanza de entenderlo algún día y que ese día tal vez entendieran de qué trataba toda la cosa. &lt;br /&gt;Vi inercia por obligación en ojos que irritados y con gritos ahogados querían salir pero ya se habían creido estar tan fijados en ese ritual que no hacían más que darse de codazos con todos alrededor suyo. &lt;br /&gt;No faltaron los que que seguían las cosas por culpa pues hasta donde habían oído o les habían enseñado la culpa se desvanecería si cumplían su condena o quizás creyendo que se merecían sufrir de esa manera. &lt;br /&gt;Los peores eran quizás los que prefirieron seguir la corriente postergándose a sí mismos con la esperanza de hallar su propia corriente una vez terminado un periodo indeterminado en dicha ruta, eran los peores pues muchas veces nunca volvían a encontrar el hilo que los conducía hacia su curso inicial o cuando al fin encontraban la salida, consideraban que ya estaban demasiado gastados para tomar su ruta inicial. Se diluían en el camino y terminaban asimilando como "suyo" lo que aceptaron a medias para conseguir lo que inicialmente querían.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Entonces quizás me di cuenta una vez más que no había forma de explicar ciertas cosas. Recordaba haber leído y escuchado, durante mis días en ese estado, discursos que si bien eran comprensibles, no había entendido ni la mitad por lo que ahora sabía con lo vivido. No se le puede explicar completamente un sonido a alguien que se tapa los oídos por temor a que se vaya a quedar sordo. Así estaba yo y creo que mucha gente: tenemos los elementos, sólo que se opta por no usarlos y el motivo más común es el miedo, y no un miedo a algo concreto (miedo a que un tiburón te coma es racional pero creer que siempre que vayas a entrar al mar te cogerán de entremés ya es paranoia) o un miedo "racional" que se supera con la saludable confrontación, sino una maraña de leyendas y dogmas que con tanta confusión invitan al terror o a la apatía del caso. Sea cual fuere, el resultado es el mismo, la gente sigue la misma ruta con la promesa de un final feliz no más certera que cualquier otra opción, sin saber por qué ni tomándose la molestia de preguntar en voz alta y exigir por una mejor respuesta que "las cosas son así".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Es por eso que hablar de estas cosas me parece un poco redundante. Podría pasarme horas de horas tipeando y hablando pero en el fondo sé que si las mismas personas no han resuelto sus rollos internos el efecto será más semejante a un placebo que cualquier otra cosa pues la cura a todos esos vacíos está dentro de cada quien. Sólo tienes que confiar en tí mism@, aceptarte como eres y seguir para adelante con la mejor voluntad que aquella vocecita sabia de tu cabeza, esa la que no tiene miedo y todas las veces te dio la mejor opción, te diga... pues esa vocecita eres tú mism@, asi que deja de postergarte y vive tu vida que nadie la va vivir por tí de la manera que tú deseas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6346449707103452816?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6346449707103452816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6346449707103452816' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6346449707103452816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6346449707103452816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/mandando-al-diablo-al-resto.html' title='Mandando al diablo al resto'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4392219529816542838</id><published>2008-02-17T11:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:20:29.686-05:00</updated><title type='text'>quick before i leave!</title><content type='html'>patience above all, i've said quite often&lt;br /&gt;i shouldn't bother about anything else but this is one of those moments when i wish i'd be taking a board and checking if i can do the 2km trail on sand... patience above all&lt;br /&gt;so i'll silently get off my pjs and dress to work, walking with the rest of the crew, walking here, there, calculations, calculations, checking the calculations, maybe another trip to the field to take the measurements that weren't taken (please, let this be one of those cases in which there's no forgotten/missing data), make the documents, send the files and then sit and wait for the call... patience above all... i only have to hold on a little longer, just a little more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:22:05&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4392219529816542838?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4392219529816542838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4392219529816542838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4392219529816542838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4392219529816542838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/quick-before-i-leave.html' title='quick before i leave!'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-3302368692192324824</id><published>2008-02-16T00:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:22:59.914-05:00</updated><title type='text'>intermezzo 3</title><content type='html'>00:21:15&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(soundtrack: fortress around your heart-sting)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. debo IR a jugar taco&lt;br /&gt;2. debo escribir mas&lt;br /&gt;3. debo terminar los libros que tengo pendientes&lt;br /&gt;4. debo refinar la hoja de calculo para diseño de estructuras de albañilería confinada (y asi tal vez me salve la tesis)&lt;br /&gt;5. debo salir de la ciudad... pronto&lt;br /&gt;6. debo pasar un rato en la playa tranquilamente&lt;br /&gt;7. debo dormir en horarios mas cuerdos&lt;br /&gt;8. deberia tener un poco mas de sentido a la hora de contar algo&lt;br /&gt;9. debería saber por que estas amnesias recurrentes y recortes de vocabulario repetitivo... tal vez me esta dando alzheimer y no me he dado cuenta...&lt;br /&gt;10. me pregunto si mi hermano aún sale con la chica que me iba a enseñar a surfear&lt;br /&gt;11. me pregunto si este mes mataré las cuentas por los siguientes meses&lt;br /&gt;12. y respondo a la pregunta... para que diablos escribes todas estas cosas? facil mi estimad@, lo hago con el simple y supino fin de practicar eso de escribir con algo de sentido y contar un poco cómo va mi existencia en este monástico estado... y si tienes algo de psicolog@ entonces ya habrás sacado un par de detalles más de mi persona pero aún así sólo serán hipótesis pues, con lo que he visto en la red, diablos! esto bien podría haber sido posteado por una IA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;asi que ahi me ciberdespido&lt;br /&gt;ciao&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.2.08 / 02.35&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when there's time... what the hell am i saying, there's always time, the lacking factor is the will to make things happen, which is available in the closest heart to you, which is your own... so&lt;br /&gt;when there's the will to make things happen, the chances of not so pleasant surprises are dramatically reduced. may i'm amnesic or the german is visiting me again (alzheimer) but that's what i remember of thos epic moments when the minds coincide and set their vectors to the same direction, the funny thing is that this didn't mean to act like mindless automantons, each one had their own features and gave their best for the common cause, no one was neglected to be what they was because there was some kind of tacit trust... epic moments, rare moments but... this can be summoned, like a song states "there's no first time without a second time"... i feel sleepy, i'd better check what does Morpheous has for me tonight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ciao&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.2.08 / 02.43&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-3302368692192324824?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/3302368692192324824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=3302368692192324824' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3302368692192324824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3302368692192324824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/03/intermezzo-3.html' title='intermezzo 3'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-3628316314904916389</id><published>2008-02-14T10:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:23:40.835-05:00</updated><title type='text'>14/2: this one is for you</title><content type='html'>for the time we met&lt;br /&gt;for the trivial conversations and those with unforgettable lines&lt;br /&gt;for every picture and image retained not only in our brains but our hearts&lt;br /&gt;for every moment shared...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;because you're the precise reason for me to celebrate this day and it doesn't matter how long that "special one" takes to arrive into your life, you can take this for sure, i'll be there for you in whichever way i can when you need it before and after that happens... and if it already happened, demons! we have a double reason to celebrate today!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy V-day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:05:00&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-3628316314904916389?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/3628316314904916389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=3628316314904916389' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3628316314904916389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3628316314904916389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/142-this-one-is-for-you.html' title='14/2: this one is for you'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2832477058739603458</id><published>2008-02-14T01:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:24:17.903-05:00</updated><title type='text'>intermezzo 2</title><content type='html'>frase del dia:&lt;br /&gt;* dicha por un participante en la semana de la moda en Berlin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"La moda es pasajera, el estilo es eterno"... amen, no se diga mas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pensamiento recurrente del dia:&lt;br /&gt;"aaaah diablos! que rico es no sentir mas 'eso' en el pecho!!! y encima preciso para el 14!!! :D"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;acción que valió la pena:&lt;br /&gt;interrumpir mi trabajo por un bicho que me picó y me dijo "ve a la azotea AHORA" para ver el atardecer, diantres! no recordaba que aca se podía armar tan bonito en verano!... será motivo para coger la bici y de paso que hago ejercicio tomaré unas fotos desde Larcomar y alrededores&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;01:21:31&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2832477058739603458?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2832477058739603458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2832477058739603458' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2832477058739603458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2832477058739603458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/intermezzo-2.html' title='intermezzo 2'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5577321471455232977</id><published>2008-02-11T01:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T01:15:46.945-05:00</updated><title type='text'>4 Amperes</title><content type='html'>si una banda se llama 6 voltios, xq no puedo llamar esto 4 amperes?&lt;br /&gt;es riquisimo sentirse al fin asi, condenacion, cada dia, cada hora, cada segundo y pensamiento. canciones y textos, lecturas y conversaciones, todo esta ya completamente atras, no hay mas que revisar los archivos, no hay mas biopsias/autopsias que realizar... ya todo esta en presente, no hay presentaciones atrasadas ni entregas postergadas indeterminadamente... todo esta aqui y ahora... aaaah diablos, no niego que el otro estado no me parecio muy agradable tambien, es bastante intoxicante, bastante inspirador y... adictivo! pero... oh diablos, eso de que esa fase este en funcion de la presencia/ausencia de alguien mas, si bien agrega ese factor de sorpresa y empuje, lo convierte en algo no muy fiable si esa fuente aun tiene muchos puntos en solo un puñado de sinapsis en mi cabeza... ahora con todas mis partes aqui no hago nada mas que celebrar este estado otra vez aaah... ahora, realmente, despues de todo este tiempo puedo decir que... VIVA LA SOLTERIA MALDITA SEA!!! :D... hasta el momento esto apoya la hipotesis de que "un@ no puede llevar una relacion saludablemente hasta que no sea capaz de vivir tranquil@ y FELIZ con un@ mism@"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5577321471455232977?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5577321471455232977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5577321471455232977' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5577321471455232977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5577321471455232977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/4-amperes.html' title='4 Amperes'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7225320504947059543</id><published>2008-02-10T20:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-10T20:24:40.614-05:00</updated><title type='text'>so I broke FREE</title><content type='html'>ghosts hunted, circles closed and, after all this time, i can yell loud and clear from the deepest part of my chest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'M FREE!!! AT LAST!!! THAT BOOK IS CLOSED!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dioses, es bueno estar viva!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fantasmas cazados, circulos cerrados y, despues de todo este tiempo, puedo gritar fuerte y claro desde el punto mas profundo de mi pecho&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOY LIBRE!!! AL FIN!!! ESE LIBRO ESTA CERRADO!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gods, it's good to be alive!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7225320504947059543?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7225320504947059543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7225320504947059543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7225320504947059543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7225320504947059543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/so-i-broke-free.html' title='so I broke FREE'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5037096173118806976</id><published>2008-02-10T17:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:25:37.249-05:00</updated><title type='text'>of S-GPS, W-day, Friends and Brothers, Chocolate and Providence</title><content type='html'>I was a complete mess since I started that "confirmation of coordinates", in some way I'm still a mess but well, it's just the lowest point before the pendulum rises again (demons, I really disliked that part on physics).&lt;br /&gt;Relaxing on this resurrection sunday (dormingo de resurrección) listening to some music (best shelter for most of the meanings that any soul could need, at least mine) and eating a milky way, I find the perfect moment to summarize the last events...&lt;br /&gt;For starters one of my closests friends and the daughter of one of my father's friend got married at the same church, one on friday and other on saturday. I've been to weddings before and the emotional load was almost nothing compared to these last two. I've known this guy 14 years, I remember on those first years helping him with his history test and playing the drums as Marco and I had our guitars. Always direct almost to an offensive level (sometimes) but with a sense of loyalty that helped a lot to put the trio together again after 10 years (a complete shame for we live in the same district) and well, I can't do anything but being thankful for putting all of us in contact after all this time. Yes, sounds naive, 14 years and 10 separated and still good friends? I guess that's what happens when you find people you really get along with.&lt;br /&gt;He got married and, as I told the bride-now-wife, I hope she knows who is she staying with and appreciates in its whole dimension.&lt;br /&gt;The other wedding was a little more loaded for my father, my mother couldn't attend so I had to dress the gown again, high heels and surpass the look I had on the wedding of the night before for it wasn't just myself there, I was attending with my father. In this case he's been friends with the father of the bride for longer that I've lived and he's seen her since she was on the craddle, she's older than me for a few years and I think he started to think about the possibility that one day, maybe, it would be him taking me down that path and giving my hand to someone else. So by the end of the ceremony, when the rings and papers were signed, I just looked at him and said "don't worry dad, I'll still be only your little daughter for a longer time" and kissed him, if that relieved him or not, I don't know. Life is full of surprises and I think he knows that better that I do but still I think that he doesn't have to worry about that at least for the next years.&lt;br /&gt;With these two situations I think I have an idea of how my brothers' weddings will be... eventually, everyone leaves the common places, isn't it? the thing is to do it for their own good.&lt;br /&gt;After saturday's wedding, my father and I came home early, so, what would I do if it was 20.00 and I still had that freaking make up on my eyes? although I didn't feel completely like going out, I called some friends and went out standing at the gathering point by 23.00, after waiting for this friend 1 hour, staring at the screen with little dancing 2 hours more I played sick and left her there with Marco, who was supervising the lights at the club and, oh gracious providence, as I said good bye to another friend who was going back to that club I hear someone calling my name... my legendary cousin Gonzalo. Gracious providence for I thought of deserting the night by midnight but as I didn't find funny to leave her hanging there with no place to go, I stayed with spartan stoicism until I thought she found herself at the club... 3 hours that were worth the shot of jameson, 2 hours chatting with my cousin, the early morning stroll down the street and the promise that we won't let huge gaps between our meetings.&lt;br /&gt;btw... S-GPS (spiritual-global positioning system, patented by me!) is nothing less and nothing more than the regular process of finding the coordinates of some elements in my life to help myself to determine what kind of soil this road is made of, cult of pessimism learned while studying civil engineering, you can't design for the worst but for the most probable disgrace, in that way, may be, you'll get to live the best&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17:11:21&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5037096173118806976?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5037096173118806976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5037096173118806976' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5037096173118806976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5037096173118806976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/of-s-gps-w-day-friends-and-brothers.html' title='of S-GPS, W-day, Friends and Brothers, Chocolate and Providence'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1503754878969155693</id><published>2008-02-09T14:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-09T14:20:09.535-05:00</updated><title type='text'>frases celebres 2</title><content type='html'>la sabiduria popular,&lt;br /&gt;nuevamente al servicio de la humanidad,&lt;br /&gt;en lineas que permitiran, quizas&lt;br /&gt;la supervivencia a la necesidad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Mientras tenga lengua y un dedo, a nada en este mundo le tengo miedo&lt;br /&gt;- Como quisiera ser chancho para comerte, BASSSSURA!&lt;br /&gt;- El gato y el ingeniero tapan su cagada&lt;br /&gt;- Ya no estamos en dias de armar guerras por armar, las invasiones son economicas y financieras, las guerras solo se reservan para los paises que no te quieren comprar o vender&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1503754878969155693?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1503754878969155693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1503754878969155693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1503754878969155693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1503754878969155693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/frases-celebres-2.html' title='frases celebres 2'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7632639948924762129</id><published>2008-02-07T18:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:26:42.690-05:00</updated><title type='text'>intermezzo 1</title><content type='html'>if i was a smoker i'd be lighting a cigarrette now, staring at the innocuous fine cloak of the sky as the sun plays hide-n-seek again... sitting where the wind passes by, no windows, no doors, at the flat roof and smirking at the fact that i'd be thinking that i'd be writing that scene while chewing some thoughts again just to let the scene intoxicate me and take it away, at least for a while... just a thought, i guess&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;life goes on and there's no way to clean the mess done on our path, we deal with the consequences and it's lot better to walk with the eyes fixed on the road for, as Rambo said, most of the accidents happen when you're staring at somewhere else&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/.../&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;intermezzo v. 1.1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"if"&lt;br /&gt;2 letters enough to take everything to the vast hills of possibilities where the flowers of every idea will bloom at its greatest splendor seducing, ensnaring, and worse than any syren, not letting anyone to get close enough to touch it (at least syrens were audible), leaving every loony drown in their own static breath, losing the link with the place they belong... "if" is the worst word&lt;br /&gt;"but"&lt;br /&gt;3 letters enough to complete the marriage and give birth to denial always open to the participation of their lover "and" to add more flowers on the hills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if, but, and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;words that can become everyone's demise unless action is taken, execution of all those ideas surpassing all the fears and unforeseen situations because, what is dreaming worth for if you can't share it completely?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18:56:18&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7632639948924762129?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7632639948924762129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7632639948924762129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7632639948924762129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7632639948924762129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/intermezzo-1.html' title='intermezzo 1'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5090539431968839503</id><published>2008-02-07T18:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:27:26.108-05:00</updated><title type='text'>de maquinas, humanos, almas y emp v1.0</title><content type='html'>de volada dire que maquina es todo aquel conjunto de elementos ligados sistemáticamente, orgánicos y/o inorgánicos, que transforma energía (y de alguna forma, realiza un trabajo), ergo, los humanos somos entramos en ese vasto conjunto por más impersonal que suene. contamos con la auto-descubierta/otorgada facultad de ser conscientes y poder decidir que ratones hacer con esta exquisita orquesta de CHON... aún asi, no dejamos de ser máquinas, no menos dependiente que el auto o una cocina o la chuchería más olvidable que en este momento no puedas recordar... peor aún, el mantenimiento de la máquina humana parece ser mucho más costoso de lo que parece. A la mayoría de máquinas tan sólo hay que mantenerlas con su fuente de energía, limpias, afinadas y haciendo aquello para lo que fueron diseñadas para hacer, sin más, a menos claro que se hagan modificaciones que incrementen o disminuyan sus tareas a realizar, ah tambien pues, mayormente requieren de algo/alguien más detrás que supervise lo que se está haciendo a fin que la misma máquina no se estropee o se puedan reportar fallas, pues, oh, pobre la inconsciente, es incapaz de determinar si está haciendo algo como se debe o si está enferma.&lt;br /&gt;los humanos no... muy aparte del mantenimiento básico con sus fuentes de energía, requieren de atenciones particulares como asistencias emocionales, de ocio y una recatafila de cosas que un auto no pediría (el día que uno me diga, "aaay, yo quiero que me pinten de ese color! asi me sentire más bonito y correre mejor! y así ganaré cuando juegue con mis amiguitos en las pistas!", sabré que estoy lista para volar). Lo gracioso es que a pesar de esta "consciencia" a veces resulta difícil asistir a un humano cuando está "averiado" pues esa misma "consciencia" le indica negar la situación y rechazar la ayuda disponible. Es más, muchas veces las generatrices de estos malestares son mas bien intensificados por la misma "consciencia" del individuo, asi que es bastante frecuente ver a quienes se ahogan en un vaso de agua con el mismo drama de quien está más frío y desesperado que los pingüinos hambrientos que nadan a su alrededor. Así tenemos una máquina que no viene con etiqueta de garantía, mucho menos con manual y que encima no hay forma de predecir con absoluta precisión su productividad pues las variables que afectan esto varían según cada sujeto, región, edad y bueh... ya captan la idea. El plus de esta máquina orgánica es que tiene capacidad de adaptación, pero! también está supeditado a esa "consciencia"... nada es perfecto, verdad? sólo el siguiente modelo de computadora... hasta que salga la siguiente y los juegos respectivos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aun así... en el año 2008 de nuestra civilización (o 2013? o 1974?, que diablos, por lo menos hay mas gente con acceso a la información estos días que hace 100 años) estamos en un trance que invita, incita, conmina a los seres humanos a comportarse como máquinas simples, como una máquina de escribir, un brazo mecánico o un carrito. Quienes están detrás definiendo qué es lo que la máquina "necesita" han ido reduciendo la satisfacción de aquellas necesidades consideradas "superfluas" y, como en caso de cualquier otra máquina inorgánica, empujar su eficiencia con el mínimo costo operativo.&lt;br /&gt;Y yo me pregunto, carajo! cuando bajaron así tan tranquilamente la cabeza? Se enseñan montañas de historias ficticias, "reales", modificadas y demás promoviendo el respeto de uno a otro y que la identidad de uno y que se yo que otros menjunges más, tán solo para ir cambiando el texto a "ya estuvo bueno el jardín de niños, ahora marca tu tarjeta, sonrie y quiero verte produciendo YA". Teóricamente todo esto es insertado con la galletita de "dinero" pero, como saben algunas personas a quienes les he comentado esto, de que sirve el supercheque si cada fin de semana te lo vas a quemar tratando de olvidar el trabajo de # que tienes que realizar el resto de días?&lt;br /&gt;Contamos con sendas formas de somníferos a nuestra disposición, ese "come y calla" se convirtió en "chupa y calla", emborracharse ya no es motivo de vergüenza sino exigencia social, oleada y sacramentada por las grandes leyedas urbanas del Gran Hermano y su madre Sociedad... alguien les ha visto o ha recibido sus sabias palabras indicándole, como el legendario Moisés y las zarzas flameantes, cuál era el camino correcto a seguir?... no se tu pero a la fecha no he sabido de algo semejante, mas me suena a un rumor malintepretado y consensuado para parcharse entre sí las carencias que nos hemos permitido tener y tácitamente aceptamos no hacérnolos notar pues sabemos que, hiere el orgullo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[continuara]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;06:46:04&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5090539431968839503?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5090539431968839503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5090539431968839503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5090539431968839503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5090539431968839503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/de-maquinas-humanos-almas-y-emp-v10.html' title='de maquinas, humanos, almas y emp v1.0'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5336302465442472911</id><published>2008-02-07T04:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T04:29:20.129-05:00</updated><title type='text'>de días y resoluciones</title><content type='html'>parvula agonia de amanecida... lo peor no es que no tenga sueño, es el hecho que nisiquiera tengo hambre... habré empezado algún tipo de mutación (otra vez?) que me deje en un estado de semi-no-muerto con la misma sensibilidad de una caja petri a los cultivos que tiene cultivos dentro?&lt;br /&gt;hastio, aburrimiento, rutina, por lo pronto he capeado esas sensaciones con cierta maestría, un par de sorpresitas en el camino y heme aquí, aun en una pieza respirando y con algo de sed... es tan curioso este estado inubicable en el rango de cosas comunes y diarias, suponiendo que lo diario y común es tener algún tipo de actividad repetitiva con ciertos días determinados con antelación o por lo menos vivir en un constante estado de estrés, ni feliz, ni triste, ni apatía ni expectativa, mierda, como se nota que los años han pasado, a este paso renovaré el ánimo local por la práctica de puenting, así lo tenga que hacer con mis pasadores!&lt;br /&gt;es semejante a estar en una fiesta o una discoteca a la cual antes se ha asistido, la gente es conocida pero por algún motivo la sensación de estar completamente "en otra" le embarga a un@ con mayor rapidez que el trago más vil que se pueda libar en el momento, y aún así superponiéndose al incremento de radicales OH en la sangre, está esa vocecilla de "esteee... y... que # hago yo acá? se supone que esto es divertido? se supone que así debemos vivir?" y es entonces que cuando la situación no me cuadra, mando al gentío al diablo (o les dejo ahí) y hago las cosas por mi lado, todos somos libres de elegir que hacer con nuestras vidas y eso es algo que a la fecha en los lares por donde he caminado nadie ha negado.&lt;br /&gt;que me disculpe el respetable por la alusión elitista, snobista, pedante y hasta acomplejada, que no es el sentimiento de lo que expresaré, pero en mi vida poco o nada me ha importado la opinión del resto, reconozco que hay un puñado cuya palabra me ha importado y de este puñado de gente contadas son las personas con quienes no compartí/comparto parentesco cercano. El tiempo que tengo el placer de conocer a estas personas es variado, desde años hasta simplemente un par de días. Peco grandemente de cándida al confiar y creer esa cosa que me dice "esta bien" al tratar con alguien, pocas veces me ha defraudado (o muchas he cubierto el papel de la ciega arrogante, sea como sea, esa es la situación)&lt;br /&gt;Es así que en este trance de mi vida en el que me refugio en este monasterio que es la casa de mis padres, me encuentro con lo que parece el final de este estado, amo a mi familia pero por un demonio, me mudo este año a como de lugar!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5336302465442472911?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5336302465442472911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5336302465442472911' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5336302465442472911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5336302465442472911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/de-das-y-resoluciones.html' title='de días y resoluciones'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-852172348184263878</id><published>2008-02-07T00:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:28:23.911-05:00</updated><title type='text'>3via sobre el amor a primera vista</title><content type='html'>Ha sido un marmótico dia, llegando de una reunión con gente de la secundaria a las 7 am, durmiendo hasta las 10 am y saliendo a comprar un par de cosas a la calle dándome la grata y siempre inspiradora experiencia de ver autos hermosos, un camaro 69 si mis ojos y memoria no me fallan, cruzando la pista un mitsubishi eclipse (aunque el 3000 gt me agrada mas) y regresando un porsche carrera escoltaba el carril izquierdo... un hermoso desfile antes del mediodía&lt;br /&gt;estos autos son hermosos, no lo voy a negar, pero a pesar de su hechura y especificaciones, hasta ahora no ha habido modelo alguno que me haga creer en el amor a primera vista como el McLaren F1... ESE es un espectáculo mundial, casi una experiencia espiritual.&lt;br /&gt;arte en metal, en ingeniería, en formas y diseño, todo con el supremo fin de darle "algo mas" a la trivial necesidad de desplazarse de un lado a otro y de paso luciendo algo que es mucho más llamativo (y práctico, si me lo preguntan) que un collar de diamantes pues es mucho mas probable que un@ vaya a pegarse la carrera de su vida en uno de estos vehículos antes de tener que abrirse paso cortando algun vidrio en el camino o dándole en la cabeza a alguien con eso.&lt;br /&gt;Lo contradictorio de esta afición mia es que choca, uuuh y cómo choca, violentamente con la consciencia ecologista que tengo desde que tengo memoria. El consumo y costos de estas poesías móviles no son nada despreciables y aunque actualmente se tiene la posibilidad de adaptaciones con gas, la simple concepción de una oración con las palabras "gas" y los nombres respectivos de estos modelos suena a una suprema herejía que bien podría invocar a los máximos diosas/es y musas de los panteones involucrados en estas máquinas para calcinar a quien haya osado semejante blasfemia. (escuchaste eso? alguien acaba de gritar "ANATEMA!!!")&lt;br /&gt;En fin... lo que más me causa gracia es que en todo este marmotismo y vida comodina a la que me refugio cada vez que estoy en estos lares es que por más idolatría que le tenga a los teoremas de ingeniería-estética, legalmente soy incapaz de manejar alguno por el simple hecho que a lo sumo en casi mis 3 decadas de existencia apenas si habré dado 3 vueltas a un parque estando detrás del volante (y encima automático) asi que, paciencia no mas, que según me cuentan (repitiendo casi lo mismo que suelto para otros asuntos) "es solo cuestión de práctica"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;00:34:02&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-852172348184263878?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/852172348184263878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=852172348184263878' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/852172348184263878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/852172348184263878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/3via-sobre-el-amor-primera-vista.html' title='3via sobre el amor a primera vista'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8433354539649134194</id><published>2008-02-04T10:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:29:02.866-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a single break</title><content type='html'>how many times i haven't seen you&lt;br /&gt;and others i've claimed that i didn't care, as i waited in silence, deep inside me, waited for a response that was always delayed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you take your time to answer, i decide to be fool enough to eagerly wait for it... without knowing for sure what goes in your mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in this short moment, when i read again what you've written, i hold dear every word, just to hope that you don't feel the same... and i lie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2-year-old embers are lit and burn lively, joy and inspiration are here again, feels great and i, i... just become a fool with feet on the ground, head on the sky and with the strange feeling that i can perceive everything in between regardless of this state... and i wouldn't like you to feel the same for the little agony that comes in the end when i realise that it's all in my head, a few bytes hanging on the inet and nothing more... then the small bites that tear my chest piece by piece waiting it to regenerate itself and attack again... and i laugh for it's not painful enough to surpass the first feeling, which is all in my head, isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and the truth is that i'm a disgrace trying to forget something that i decided not to... so far the best way for me to solve that is to confront it with reality and in this case, geography isn't helping at all... i'll have to do something to fix it, inevitably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:30:41&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8433354539649134194?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8433354539649134194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8433354539649134194' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8433354539649134194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8433354539649134194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/single-break.html' title='a single break'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-3207221526881884195</id><published>2008-02-02T19:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:30:26.126-05:00</updated><title type='text'>about a song - crazy/gnarls barkley</title><content type='html'>no, i don't remember the last time i checked next to the word "sanity" but i like to believe i've been this way all my life, at least the part i remember of it.&lt;br /&gt;nothing seemed to change basically, earth is where my feet lay, sky is above my head, haven't tried breathing under water and no, so far i can't change the traffic lights at will (but i do only when i arrive on time)&lt;br /&gt;it's ridiculous, like the kids that came years ago, only with more information and "experiences" of how to display our game in this "reality", we're still basically the same and, even though there's always some kind of wave of trying to behave the way in the complete opposite direction of the one dictated by nature, the rhythm of this dance doesn't change too much at all&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;creeping thoughts and sneaking ideas beneath the directed lines which are supposed to be followed in order to maintain a pattern acceptable for everyone are the inconscious private/personal terrorists against the law of that "big brother", that legend everyone talks about but no one has ever spoken with them... like common sense, it's just what people thinks that the rest should think, no contracts, no papers, just the tacit consent which i find quite annoying, no one's bound to follow it but it seems to be accepted as if life depended on it (when it doesn't).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i don't remember the last time i checked next to the box that said "insanity", legally i'm still on the safe line (very difuse line) and while i dance and play here, i wonder, is it that hard to risk for a second what is considered "secure"? we come alone, we leave alone, we have nothing to lose and the only tool of trade we got is the time we have to breath on this earth... is it worth it to spend it behind the wall someone else said to respect even when they didn't explain themselves how did that come to be?... it's a thought that comes from my skydiver/mercenary mind, free will they say, freedom of speech claim others, paper can hold anything but bytes can hold everything, as usual, it's up to you what to do with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19:01:43&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-3207221526881884195?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/3207221526881884195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=3207221526881884195' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3207221526881884195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3207221526881884195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/02/about-song-crazygnarls-barkley.html' title='about a song - crazy/gnarls barkley'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5254782155440788047</id><published>2008-01-25T23:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T19:31:28.291-05:00</updated><title type='text'>from www.thefuckingshit.org</title><content type='html'>[ found originally at www.thefuckingshit.org, a blog worth to be read written by a guy in Spain... so if you want to read the original, it'll be a good chance for you to test your language skills! :) ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Primes look for primes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People are like numbers: there are numbers which are the mere composition of others, the composite numbers and numbers which are genuinely unique, the prime numbers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The composite numbers have millions of common factors. They like to believe what they're told and they don't like you to do not believe in what they say, they give kisses on your cheek as they spit on your back, they die to be envied and they die of envy too, they accept what the rest accepts and reject what the rest rejects. The composite numbers have easiness to find a partner, they don't lack of multiples that can make them the exact division nor divisors that can decompose them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However the prime numbers are the most particular cases. They are authentic. They don't let themselves be divided by anyone but themselves, they haven't based their existence on what others are and the most important, when they find another prime number whom they multiply with, the result is hard to factorize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is why, even when the prime numbers have it harder to find each other, when they do, the product is so peculiar that is very costly to go back to its origin. A prime number leaves a mark which is hard to forget. In occasions, in order to leave behind the memory of the original multiplication, there's no other remedy than to find another prime with whom make the product. If primes were composite that task wouldn't be so complex but, as the primes are a small conjunction in the inmensity of the line of real numbers, they have to go trying discretly some of the infinite terms of the life series, just to see if they find one to get, with the accumulation of their experiences, a result that diverges to +infinite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This message goes to all those prime numbers that one day found each other and for some reason something factorized implacably their product. There are more primes on the line, it's only a matter of waiting for that inflection point that makes the curve go positive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luther Blissett.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ translators' addition: sometimes the line makes a loop and as long as the "number" is alive there's still a chance to meet again. ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23:41:15&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5254782155440788047?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5254782155440788047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5254782155440788047' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5254782155440788047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5254782155440788047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/01/from-wwwthefuckingshitorg.html' title='from www.thefuckingshit.org'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-3026706279352419865</id><published>2008-01-23T14:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T14:43:25.480-05:00</updated><title type='text'>if he ever gets this</title><content type='html'>it's been the hardest decision I've ever had to take... it's not like he's not important at all, in fact, in my list of priorities he's as much important as my own life now but, i can't stay and offer a vestige of myself due to my job when he arrives, so in order to keep myself alive and healthy i'm taking another way... i don't know if i'll be here, i can't force anything here (nor i want to)... but it feels like i'm discarding him and it's not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you ever read this take a minute and get this song "no importa que el sol se muera" by moenia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that explains in some way what have i felt about you all this time... by now, i just hope you understand my decision and how much i crave to see you again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-3026706279352419865?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/3026706279352419865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=3026706279352419865' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3026706279352419865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3026706279352419865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2008/01/if-he-ever-gets-this.html' title='if he ever gets this'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1746306893702752175</id><published>2007-12-10T00:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-11T20:07:48.189-05:00</updated><title type='text'>like soccer</title><content type='html'>new taste on my list, 11 to complete the team, ain't it greater?, ain't it vain? it's just another score on my game&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to use and being used like there's nothing greater to loose, i wake from the dead and realise i haven't changed the place... shall we recover what never was or just imagine, pretend and let it pass?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hanging still on the sacrifice table there's my head lying on the ground, making out for the very last time with the dirt and mud&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and still, what you could call "happy"&lt;br /&gt;and still, what you might call "insane"&lt;br /&gt;i drive through all these different yet familiar scenes  like if i really didn't care (for i  seem to do not)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cheers to the moments and cheers to my pride&lt;br /&gt;hail for wisdom and hail for desire&lt;br /&gt;for every moment tasted and every hour i forget&lt;br /&gt;in the very end of this day... i will still recall one name&lt;br /&gt;the one i should not whisper, the one i shouldn't say&lt;br /&gt;that one that sealed an old oath held with a smile on my face&lt;br /&gt;"siempre" said i to that "remember me" line&lt;br /&gt;what a fool, ain't us all? just a second, and beyond&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;here i lie with no other corpses in the closet but my own&lt;br /&gt;that creeping zombie i take out for air and to long&lt;br /&gt;to share its warmth to share its tears and joy&lt;br /&gt;and to remind me, oh hell, how much pride i still have my boy&lt;br /&gt;the ghost lingers as i desire, a foolish slave for my private liar&lt;br /&gt;i thought buried it was but no, it always comes back like never did before&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cheers to you baby, cheers to you my friend&lt;br /&gt;cheers for the entire team, and the cheerleaders as well&lt;br /&gt;to all the game and every tournament&lt;br /&gt;to every move and cheat and fail&lt;br /&gt;for all the merriment we bring into our lives&lt;br /&gt;for all the grief we seem to forget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;shall we take it forever? shall our hands shake again?&lt;br /&gt;just like we never met each other, almost like it could begin again&lt;br /&gt;and before this turns awfully repeating as the tic toc of the clock&lt;br /&gt;i close this entry of wisdom, insanity and more than anything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;words&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thnx 4 being there&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1746306893702752175?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1746306893702752175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1746306893702752175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1746306893702752175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1746306893702752175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/12/like-soccer.html' title='like soccer'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2789482018940450570</id><published>2007-12-09T16:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T12:30:48.294-05:00</updated><title type='text'>like soccer</title><content type='html'>new taste on my list, 11 to complete the team, ain't it greater?, ain't it vain? it's just another score on my game &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to use and being used like there's nothing greater to loose, i wake from the dead and realise i haven't changed the place... shall we recover what never was or just imagine and pretend...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hanging still on the sacrifice table there's my head lying on the ground, making out for the very last time with the dirt and mud&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and still, what you could call "happy"&lt;br /&gt;and still, what you might call "insane"&lt;br /&gt;i drive through all these different yet familiar scenes  like if i really didn't care (for i  seem to do not)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cheers to the moments and cheers to my pride&lt;br /&gt;hail for wisdom and hail for desire&lt;br /&gt;for every moment tasted and every hour i forget&lt;br /&gt;in the very end of this day... i will still recall one name&lt;br /&gt;the one i should not whisper, the one i shouldn't say&lt;br /&gt;that old oath held with the smile on my face&lt;br /&gt;"siempre" said i to that "remember me" line&lt;br /&gt;what a fool, ain't us all? just a second, and beyond&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;here i lie with no other corpses in the closet but my own&lt;br /&gt;that creeping zombie i take out for air and to long&lt;br /&gt;to share its warmth to share its tears and joy&lt;br /&gt;and to remind me, oh hell, how much the ghost lies there&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cheers to you baby, cheers to you my friend&lt;br /&gt;cheers for the entire team, and the cheerleadersr as well&lt;br /&gt;to all the game and every tournament&lt;br /&gt;to every move and cheat and fail&lt;br /&gt;for all the merriment we bring into our lives&lt;br /&gt;for all the grief we seem to forget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;shall we take it forever? shall our hands shake again?&lt;br /&gt;just like we never met each other, almost like it could begin again&lt;br /&gt;and before this turns awfully repeating as the tic toc of the clock&lt;br /&gt;i close this entry of wisdom, insanity and more than anything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;words&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thnx 4 being there&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2789482018940450570?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2789482018940450570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2789482018940450570' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2789482018940450570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2789482018940450570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/12/like-soccer_09.html' title='like soccer'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7960138002754313442</id><published>2007-10-15T11:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T12:32:12.181-05:00</updated><title type='text'>as it comes</title><content type='html'>haven't  written in a while&lt;br /&gt;words just came to talk about reminiscences and other triffles which i won't deal on today&lt;br /&gt;i find amusing the way music changes the environment, i find amysing standing on the side watching the whole show, well , not all but it's  funny to be asisde sometimes&lt;br /&gt;then i remember i'm still part of all this party,  and i jump to get tin, which is not the same to "fit " in&lt;br /&gt;i discovered a song a couple days ago, it's very intoxicating, i admit, i'm writing again of stories and tales&lt;br /&gt;btw... Stardust was great, Gaiman's the best&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7960138002754313442?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7960138002754313442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7960138002754313442' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7960138002754313442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7960138002754313442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/10/havent-written-in-while-words-just-came.html' title='as it comes'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7766660699466844582</id><published>2007-09-18T21:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-18T21:55:19.752-05:00</updated><title type='text'>if hunter could, so</title><content type='html'>it's odd, suddenly my inbox changed even when i didn't want to change to the "live" version... i'm feeling kinda out of here while situations that years ago could have driven me nuts and into berserker mode now make me just laugh and i just keep going, i just don't care "that" much anymore, suddenly something hits my left eye and i'm still amused with some memories, smiling while i feel like my eye is about to be torn appart... maybe i've jumped from realities (again)&lt;br /&gt;i still keep some memories and references, some things are still the same... in what kind of world am i standing today? will it be the same reality when i wake up in a few hours? i don't know and i can't tell and the pictures of matchsticks men are still in my head as the intro of golden brown repeats again in my head... still the notes of someone describing what happened in that lady's room summons some tranquility into my mind, just before i log off and pretend this was just interesting story to tell&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7766660699466844582?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7766660699466844582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7766660699466844582' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7766660699466844582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7766660699466844582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/09/if-hunter-could-so.html' title='if hunter could, so'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-9059679391965330228</id><published>2007-09-02T00:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T23:46:03.719-05:00</updated><title type='text'>walk, hop, run, jump</title><content type='html'>whatever it takes, just keep yourself heading to somewhere, somewhere is closer to what you believe is closer to the best for you, fulfill your nightmares and dreams, your mistakes and success, breath and say DAMN IT! I DID IT!!!&lt;br /&gt;that's how this fantastic life started, I was riding the bus heading to my school to get my degree after a long time, damp air in my lungs as the last months. I pay my tkt as I walk to my school, more payments, forgodsake, will they never be satisfied? as far as I feel I won't give them the happiness of me paying for my title, I'm flying somewhere else, I don't need their agreement to prove somewhere else that I'm good (at least) where I want, so bye bye, here's where my fantastic life starts...&lt;br /&gt;It was november, the cold winds still sieves through the windows and doors, we pay the price of our environmental trespasses, interests and more included. Still I'm leaving this place soon, a seat on a plane is waiting for me and that's how I arrived here.&lt;br /&gt;Almost as familiar as I left this place, some sacrifices on the road and other absent characters on the set, still the rest keep the show going on, "hello" they say and I wave them back, it's good to be here again.&lt;br /&gt;Unpacking my things I find some things I thought I forgot but my subconscience found the way to smugle them in this stage of my life, oh well, if they're already here, they're more than welcome&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-9059679391965330228?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/9059679391965330228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=9059679391965330228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9059679391965330228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9059679391965330228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/09/walk-hop-run-jump.html' title='walk, hop, run, jump'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6767020685880198235</id><published>2007-08-27T22:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-27T23:04:10.048-05:00</updated><title type='text'>viste eso?</title><content type='html'>un dia estas saltando en el pasto, miras al cielo que se muestra claro y limpio mientras que el ambiente calido te mantiene fresco en los shorts y polo que llevas puesto, alguien te carga? tal vez, sea lo que sea, eres feliz.&lt;br /&gt;el dia siguiente estas viendo un arbolito y como unas cosas caen de el, lo trepas un poco y le coges gusto, la hamaca el segundo mejor lugar para estar despues de esa rama tan ergonomica, tan aparte pero aun presente en la tierra de todos.&lt;br /&gt;la semana pasa y te encuentras en un salon con otras personas mas o menos de tu altura mientras otro humano esta al frente diciendoles cosas que parecen captar su atencion.&lt;br /&gt;al mes siguiente estas recibiendo un diploma, tu cabeza esta mucho mas lejos del suelo, hace tiempo que nisiquiera te acercas a esa rama que  crecio contigo ni has visto a esa persona que iba al frente la primera vez que te sentaste en un salon, alguien llama a los pocos dias para ofrecerte un trabajo en aquello que has estado estudiando los ultimos anios de tu vida, aceptas... es temporal como otros trabajos que tus amistades han tenido... ahora que termino se abre la encrucijada, sigues? cambias? vas por el bosque? regresas a la rama? algo es cierto por lo pronto, no es saludable jugarse por algo que no es agradable...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6767020685880198235?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6767020685880198235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6767020685880198235' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6767020685880198235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6767020685880198235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/08/viste-eso.html' title='viste eso?'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5907353081503608812</id><published>2007-07-10T02:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T03:19:14.050-05:00</updated><title type='text'>eventos</title><content type='html'>hace un par de semanas hubo como un medio malentendido que si dije pero no me di cuenta aunque si pero como no hablaste lo tome como que no habia problema pero si lo tomaste asi... en fin, esas cosas que pasan cuando hay quienes hablan un poco de mas mientras otras hablan un mucho de menos... total que como que alguien al parecer no tuvo suficiente confianza como al parecer tenia para poder decir "hey, pueden cambiar de tema?" derivando en un distanciamiento.&lt;br /&gt;asi es "distanciamiento" pues valgan verdades, a nadie he conocido lo suficientemente cancher@ como para decir "de aqui/esta persona nunca", la vida es curiosa, minima y graciosa, para dar vueltas tan solo un pollo a la brasa podria dar una recondita idea de lo que la vida puede hacer con uno y todo lo que da por sentado en un momento... por otro lado, tampoco he sabido de alguien taaaan cancher@ como para ir deshaciendose gente (ya sean amistades, conocid@s, compañer@s, etc) en funcion a caprichos y desavenencias que bien se arreglan hablando (por que ya dicen los antiguos: hablando se entiende la gente!) en una aparente pose de Thulsa Doom descartando a quienes no se ajustan a su absoluta verdad... si alguien ha visto a alguien asi a ver si le dan su pastillita de Ubicaina 500 (R), ya si una sobredosis no funciona opten por invitarle una rica taza caliente de chocolargate deseandole un buen porvenir en esa concepcion en la que se ha metido... total, la gente entiende lo que le  conviene... en fin, regresando a lo del distanciamiento... es una pena pues ciertamente crei que todo quedaria en un par de posts, un rato de silencio y despues como buenos patas se terminaria en "hey! ya buena estuvo la broma hasta ahora" pues honestamente marcar semejante linea a partir de asuntos tan triviales me resulta digno solo de dos estados: una primaria aun no superada o una inmersion patologica en los animes mas estereotipados que se hayan podido concebir, estados que considero no ser en los que las personas en cuestion esten estos dias...&lt;br /&gt;al parecer los animos ya se calmaron desde que esos dimes y diretes indirectos se dieron, aunque admito que mi participacion fue mas que todo con un animo sacada en cara por la inconsecuencia de quien inicio el post usando sus argumentos expuestos  sazonado con algo de chanza... es decir, una de esas tonterias que a veces suceden entre los patas, nada grave, tan solo para cortar la mala leche ya vertida en el cafe... aun a pesar de esta quietud al respecto, las cosas no pueden ser como antes por un lado de la historia, por otro no especulo pues para variar deje mis habilidades telepaticas y empaticas en mi otra almohada y por mi lado bueno, me siento sobre la barda sin perder ni el buen humor ni la vista lo que aun puedo percibir abrigando, pa' variar, la siempre probable esperanza que las cosas se armen para mejor... ahi te leo pues!&lt;br /&gt;ah si.. respecto a los maniquies... ya otra noche se me cruzara por la cabeza que paso con estos individuos en cuestion, no es propicio dejarlos al pendiente cuando estan por realmente hacer lo que deberian o por lo menos lo que creen deben hacer&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5907353081503608812?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5907353081503608812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5907353081503608812' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5907353081503608812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5907353081503608812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/07/eventos.html' title='eventos'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7703216028714239158</id><published>2007-07-03T12:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-09T14:04:23.642-05:00</updated><title type='text'>frases celebres 1</title><content type='html'>coleccion de frases que en el dia a dia se convierten en participaciones geniales&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- yo tenia fe, el/ella no&lt;br /&gt;- yo te queiro, tu me quieres, hagamos que esta relacion funcione&lt;br /&gt;- 'pera chiquillo ahorita te atiendo&lt;br /&gt;- se cree el hueco del queque&lt;br /&gt;- del mar el mero, de la tierra el cordero, de los aires la perdiz y las mujeres de paris&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7703216028714239158?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7703216028714239158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7703216028714239158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7703216028714239158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7703216028714239158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/07/frases-celebres.html' title='frases celebres 1'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5010149713971644301</id><published>2007-07-03T00:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T23:45:33.834-05:00</updated><title type='text'>1 4 +|-|3 204|&gt;</title><content type='html'>that's what i love about music, it's an inevitable trip to an unknown place, sometimes to the past, that one that actually happened, sometimes to those that never came to be... passing trhough the future and its zillion chances not without touching this present and adding that taste that makes everything more unforgettable yet confusing...&lt;br /&gt;this song is one of those that i would have despised if i hadn't been in that situation but now i pay attention to it and i can feel the smell and the cold, tiredness of a whole day and a mountain smiling at me as i smile at it, an loyal and unforgettable and love that was never took down and never will.&lt;br /&gt;i looked at the top or just the slopes, white-covered and traces of those who dared to challenge it... and i was among those, but i smiled at you and you always did the same for me, giving me strenght in a way that no one seemed to understand, through some people's friendship, through some people's lies and so forth... you were always there, unmovable spirit crowning the scene, the perfect reign in such man-forsaken place... you knew that i knew what hurt you, you knew more than any other person there what was inside me, and looked at me when i was dying, solemn, still and arrogant you said that i knew i was able to do it and stand up and never surrender... we enjoyed together the snowballfights and those tunes which became athems for us... you and i, and some people more even when they didn't understand.&lt;br /&gt;i'm thinking of you always, you know, you know as everybody there that you mean a lot to me and even when i'm telling you this in a language that wasn't the first you heard when little i hope you still understand this deep feeling i have for you, that's why i have this mark on my back and a reminder on my knee, we'll meet again, i know you'll be there&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5010149713971644301?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5010149713971644301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5010149713971644301' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5010149713971644301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5010149713971644301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/07/1-4-3-204.html' title='1 4 +|-|3 204|&gt;'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1800683679540501179</id><published>2007-06-20T19:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T00:41:09.311-05:00</updated><title type='text'>de lo chic, lumpen, fashion, emo, darketo y otros maniquíes</title><content type='html'>Erase una vez de una persona que nació al mismo tiempo que otras... no se conocerían en carne y hueso pero la vida es providencial y los bendijo con la internet...&lt;br /&gt;una vivía siempre bajo la protección constante de papá y mamá, jamás se halló en un inodoro sin un rollo nuevo de papel a su disposición, sus dedos desconocían cuchillo de dimensión mayor a aquel que empleaba para el platillo principal pues recordaba perfectamente sus horas en las clases de urbanidad y buenas costumbres, asistió a un colegio mixto pero sólo tuvo un par de buenas amigas sin cuya conversación no podía concebir un día. Admiraba al papa Juan Pablo II y asistía cada domingo a la misa de la tarde pues sus compromisos sociales la tenían demolida hasta las la hora de almuerzo. Jamás se le vió caminar más de una cuadra, un automóvil siempre estuvo a su disposición, ya sea el de la familia con el chofer, el enamorado/afán de turno o lo que se veía en estos días, intermitencia entre ella manejando sus auto o su ya-casi-cae-novio recogiéndola. Se mantenía en forma con disciplina espartana asistiendo al gimnasio por lo menos una hora todos los días para después distensarse en el completísimo spa desde que cumplió 12 años. Podía notar la diferencia (lo que muchos parecía una finta) entre vinos de años distintos y percibir hasta la más mínima disturbación que ultrajara el aroma de su perfume, que variaba según la ocasión y día, en un radio de 30 metros... y publicaba con su no muy sutil estilo que su ya-casi-cae-novio estaba yendo en serio y estaba por proponérsele lo que inevitablemente interrumpiría su gran sueño de ejercer su carrera pero estaba dispuesta a hacerlo en nombre del amor.&lt;br /&gt;en esos días estaba otra persona remordiendo nuevamente el calendario haciendo cálculos a una velocidad y con métodos que hacía revolver en su tumba a Arquímedes (hecho que nunca se llegó a comprobar pues no sabemos dónde está enterrado Arquimedes). Si lograba salirle esta nueva jugada tal vez podría escapar de una vez por todas de ese cuartucho que forzadamente estuvo compartiendo con sus otros familiares y la prole de uno de éstos. Tal vez si tuviera más "suerte" habría algo que le ilumine el rostro para creer en aquellas palabras que sus difuntos padres una vez le dijeron "si realmente quieres algo y te esfuerzas para conseguirlo, lo conseguirás", vaya que lo creyó esa vez, una gran barra de chocolate por su primer examen rendido en el colegio y con una nota sobresaliente "entonces había esperanza en este país, no como ahora con toda la mierda que ha pasado". Vuelve a hacer sus cálculos, vuelve a tener esperanza y una risotada de victoria sale de su garganta que ha pagado el desabrigo prodigado por el polo que lo ha acompañado por 9 años y que se ha negado a cambiarlo más por costumbre que por falta de medios al igual que otras 10 prendas que tiene en sus cajones. Alguien desde el otro cuarto le grita "otra vez haciendo ruido carajo! no sabes hacer nada mas en esta casa más que comer y traer a tus amigos a chupar, eh! para eso me rajo en la chamba para que en un fin de semana se traguen todolo que compro para todos en esta maldita familia en la semana y encima ni agradecen carajo! ya van a ver cuando me muera sarta de inútiles que sin mí no son nada!", "ya deja de joder y duermete carajo, que estás ahi por que mi papá te dejó el cargo sino estarías en la calle soldando rieles y chupando!"... franco recordatorio de que la vida apesta, siempre apestó y apestará hasta que no haya nariz que así lo perciba...&lt;br /&gt;"ante todo, salvame de la ordinariez" parecía ser la frase final de su oración a su angel de la guarda cada día antes de poner un pie fuera de su cama. Canon de elegancia por donde caminase, la gente solía apartarse de la acera o comenzaba a visar si había alguna cámara cerca filmándolo pues tanta gracia, belleza y esplendor sólo se veían en las películas o en algún comercial. Siempre etéreo, grácil y ajeno de la inmundicia a la que enfrenta cuando pasea por la ciudad y algún recordatorio que la pobreza no se esconde y solicita ayuda para cambiar en algo esa desesperada situación "cómo es posible que esta gente viva así?" se pregunta mientras esconde el brazo que relajadamente apoyaba en la ventana. No podrá ubicar el año de la participación equestre de Alfonso Ugarte ni entender sin explicación repetida de cómo hallar la hipotenusa de un triángulo rectángulo de catetos 3 y 4 pero si de tendencias y gustos le preguntan, será el mejor para ubicar el maridaje perfecto a partir del vino que elijan y la estación, nadie podrá encontrar aquel detalle que faltaba en el vestido de la novia para hacerlo más notable que todos los elementos de la boda juntos ni mucho menos encontrarán mejor voz para distinguir a un vanguardista de la moda a un improvisado con suerte así como reconocer a un director . Estilo, caché le dicen, suele ser tan encantador que hace que muchos chicos duden de su propia identidad sexual, razón por la que es sumamente frecuente encontrarlo rodeado de mujeres, entre amigas, fans y nuevas conocidas. Ha llegado a su departamento, está cansado, es hora de hacerse una limpieza de toda la mugre que ha atrapado en la calle, hora del tratamiento completo y una siesta antes de colgarse un rato a la red para terminar unos artículos y ya... tal vez salga a ver ese nuevo pub que han abierto cerca a ese centro comercial donde compró su último par de zapatos que le inspiró mas esperanza en el producto nacional pues ya no era sólo funcional, era "n-i-c-e". Un sandwich ligero echo en casa tal como indica la receta tan famosa para no sobrepasar los límites calóricos diarios deberia ser suficiente para calmar el hambre de caballo que lo ha atormentado 1 hora.&lt;br /&gt;un día hubo un fulano que se le quedó mirando como el resto de la gente y pensó, "wow... pero seguro debe ser gay y es tan brillante que apesta" asi que sacudió su cabeza ligeramente para dejar que su cerquillo cubra la miradita despectiva mientras volvía  otra vez su atención al sonido que escupían sus audífonos, algún sonidito predominantemente de guitarras distorsionadas con batería desbocada y algun juego de cuerdas vocales que si pudieran se unirían a un sindicato para reclamar sus derechos vejados ante tanto maltrato laboral. se dirige a la casa de la única flaca que parece entenderlo pues tambien le gustan las mismas bandas, detesta aquellas que, aunque mantengan el mismo corte, se hayan hecho populares o sean reconocibles por más de 2 personas que ella conozca. Ella le regaló un brazalete de cables y plástico para anillar en su cumpleaños pues al olvidarse no tuvo mejor idea que salir con algo así. El le está llevando un cuadernito de notas que lleva una caricatura que parece el resultado de la frase "demonios! tengo que entregar los bocetos en media hora!" al tiempo que se da cuenta que su reloj está atrasado 29 minutos después de un fin de semana bajo la sobreexposición a bebés cabezones y una proyección de 36 horas de películas vampirescas, la vida fue pródiga y ese garabato ahora se publica por millones en líneas de ropa para hombres, mujeres, unisex y papelería en general. "no esto no es amor, el amor duele y deprime, ja" piensa antes de tocar la puerta.&lt;br /&gt;Respondio su madre, que despues de saludar con una ligera venia para evitar el beso en la mejilla, invitarlo a pasar y llamar a su hija se desaparece después de la frase "chaucito, ya sabes, si me llaman que me ubiquen al celu". Están sentados ya en la sala mientras él pone el cd en el equipo, "luce más palida hoy, se lo digo?" piensa, lo que él no sabe es que ella tuvo tiempo de retocar el delineador y sombras que siempre lleva puesto, casi no ha comido estos días pues por primera vez en eones, desde que la gente le dejó de hablar tanto por su actitud de quien atrae todas las nubes del mundo y fosforito a la más mínima alusión a su aspecto, ha hecho conscientemente caso a un comentario que oyó en el baño "o sea no pues, si usas sólo ropa suelta stu cuerpo se acostumbra y terminas como una vaca". No pidió mayor consejo al respecto y tampoco lo haría después, ella es el personaje oscuro, alguien que no le importan esas cosas que las chic y los fashion cuidan, siempre está molesta por algo, el planeta apesta, la existencia apesta.. y su vida también pero cuesta admitirlo pues es más facil tirar piedras al resto antes de limpiar el jardín propio. Ha desarrollado un gusto por la sangre que ante le espantaba pues nisiquiera pudo ver su propio raspón cuando cayó de bruces al saltar del columpio, dice que le agrada la carne cruda pero siempre la deja a la mitad. Después de mucho esfuerzo y tarjetas está apunto de conseguir que no haya más color en su guardarropa que el negro, el último bastión es el de la ropa interior. Un hola seco levantando la cabeza a la distancia mientras nota "que ridiculo que se ve con esas medias", el le dice que trajo el cd que le pidió, ella sólo suelta un "ah" con una indiferencia inversamente proporcional al sobresalto que ha tenido al saber que encontró el album en e cuestión...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1800683679540501179?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1800683679540501179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1800683679540501179' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1800683679540501179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1800683679540501179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/06/de-lo-chic-lumpen-fashion-emo-darketo-y.html' title='de lo chic, lumpen, fashion, emo, darketo y otros maniquíes'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7879093330367613002</id><published>2007-06-17T23:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T23:56:52.552-05:00</updated><title type='text'>addiction</title><content type='html'>musica/music/musique... i don't know any other term but that's the idea&lt;br /&gt;musica&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;empece con lo basico, rock clasico, jazz, siempre con la vena folcklorica presente especialmente en su forma peruana (de la cual, la guitarra se lleva gran parte de mi afecto)... los años pasaron y me perdi un poco mas en ese mundo al que llamo "rock &amp;amp; sons" llevando en paralelo ritmos centro y sudamericanos en sus diversas formas...&lt;br /&gt;he sido fanática de Queen, así, conjugado en pretérito perfecto pues tomé consciencia de mi propio fanatismo que ya era enfermizo... amen que por lo menos fue por una banda que vale bastante la pena, a la fecha no hay por que decir lo contrario... le cogí harto camote a Joe Satriani y Stevie Ray Vaughn hasta el día que taita Raúl García Zárate solito abrió su sitial en ese ranking personal... disfruté la era grunge (alice in chains, nirvana, soundgarden) así como la trilogía anterior (guns, metallica, iron maiden) tratando de no perder de vista lo que el amplio paisaje me ofrecía (como faith no more!, composiciones de Yoko Kanno y bandas como el último de la fila)... después de sentir una casi hiriente ausencia de nuevos sonidos en esa parte del mundo encontré un refugio en la electrónica con daft punk, moby así como exponentes del dance y hip hop....&lt;br /&gt;un día un amigo me abrió los ojos al "french touch" llevándome a urgar más dentro de esos djs franceses como Thomas Bangalter que soportan mi teoría de que sus madres escucharon disco mientras los tenían en el vientre y en sus brazos... amen!&lt;br /&gt;y en estos días que la radio local me espanta con frecuencia encontré la radio en internet que me ha hecho recordar y mostrado cierta apetencia por ritmos asincopados principalmente sólo instrumentales... acabo de perder el nombre de banda y canción de un tema que estaba espectacular... pero bueh... ya he escuchado que después de unos días llegan a repetir canciones en esta estación asi que con algo de suerte volveré a cogerla.... gente... hay esperanza en la música! y siempre la habrá!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7879093330367613002?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7879093330367613002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7879093330367613002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7879093330367613002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7879093330367613002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/06/addiction.html' title='addiction'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8431609314227537499</id><published>2007-06-16T13:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-16T16:57:12.750-05:00</updated><title type='text'>pals</title><content type='html'>ayer en la noche fui a la reuna por el cumple de un pata&lt;br /&gt;era el circulo maligno del vicio, de los ancient del Magic y Starcraft/Warcraft&lt;br /&gt;de aquellos seres que inculcaron a nuevas generaciones a ingresar a ese mundo para tener mas gente con la cual jugar (y costearse el propio vicio)... y que son una de las raices mas fuertes de los comentarios rocosos que a veces se me puedan ocurrir&lt;br /&gt;si alguna vez alguien se ha quedado en frio por algun comentario/asociacion que hago dada su dislocada naturaleza tendria que verme en dicho circulo en el cual tengo que refrescar mi mente sendas veces para no sucumbir al chucaque neuronal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;angelina bonjovi...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;la puerta de escape...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;el mensaje de declaracion...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;el valet parking de mcdonalds... y otras intervenciones que seran contadas... en otra ocasion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;son un mate de risa, tal vez me tengan en su cabeza como "un pata mas"&lt;br /&gt;y para hacerla mas graciosa todavia... resulte ser el unico ser sin cromosoma Y en la reuna que participo&lt;br /&gt;hice la graciosa huida a las 4 am... y no debo permitirme distanciarme tanto de esta grey tan particular&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8431609314227537499?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8431609314227537499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8431609314227537499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8431609314227537499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8431609314227537499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/06/pals.html' title='pals'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-715240795758079384</id><published>2007-06-15T15:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-15T17:13:15.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>de tal palo</title><content type='html'>uno recibe lo q da, verdad?&lt;br /&gt;y una madre no todo el tiempo es el icono de comprension que cada 2do domingo d mayo nos hacen recordar... la mia solia perder la paciencia con frecuencia cuando no avisaba sobre algun detalle en el cual ella habia de velar, como por ejemplo detalles en fechas de pago y esas tonterias... siempre se me exigio tácitamente se expresa, conscisa y puntual... los rodeos son una pérdida de tiempo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;no suelo pedir disculpas cuando levanto la voz a alguien o cuando doy a conocer algún juicio sobre algo-alguien así resulte "hiriente", la misma certeza con la que sostengo "caminamos sobre el suelo, el cielo es lo que se llama "arriba" y que existimos es la que dejo entreveer cuando doy opinión alguna... del mismo modo, cuando solicito información pido que sea lo más explícita y precisa posible para realizar la tarea encargada a cabalidad, si me dejan puntos sin especificar los llenaré con a mi criterio y la persona en cuestión ya no tendrá asidero para quejarse pues, ya&lt;br /&gt;hice mi parte al pedir las espeficaciones de su petición... tal cual mi madre hacía&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hace 16 minutos los papeles se cambiaron, ella no fue expresa en su solicitud lo cual significa que yo tendría que renegociar y hasta tal vez cambiar de casa de cambio, de haber sido otra persona me hubiera llegado y al diablo, pero me molesté del mismo modo que ella se molestaba conmigo  y me miró con la misma mirada que yo tenía cuando eso sucedía "pero no te molestes", nisiquiera tiene idea de cuántas veces pensé eso y por miedo y vergüenza no le decía... "ahora ya sabes lo que Greta sentía cuando Mamá se ponía así con Greta". Si, así, en tercera persona como siempre que lidio algo relativo a mis primeros años con ella... esto es sólo un asunto "local" pues con nadie más tengo ese cuadro...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;y saben que?&lt;br /&gt;no voy a pedir disculpas&lt;br /&gt;y ella lo sabe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;UPDATE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;le dije a mi madre todo esto,&lt;br /&gt;y nos perdonamos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a ta! :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-715240795758079384?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/715240795758079384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=715240795758079384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/715240795758079384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/715240795758079384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/06/de-tal-palo.html' title='de tal palo'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8444171668783135166</id><published>2007-05-19T15:52:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-19T15:52:33.156-05:00</updated><title type='text'>csi</title><content type='html'>estamos contando los cadaveres&lt;br /&gt;en una supina autopsia a la zona y el tiempo&lt;br /&gt;es cierto que algo lejos parece estar ya&lt;br /&gt;pero...&lt;br /&gt;aun hay pedazos que quiero estudiar&lt;br /&gt;reliquias que observar&lt;br /&gt;y quedarme colgada por un par de horas admirando la belleza de tan inocua pieza&lt;br /&gt;o por lo menos asi parecia&lt;br /&gt;y escucho los pasos que alguna vez marco&lt;br /&gt;un agudo timbre irrumpe mi contemplacion, es aquello que rasga los tiempos que en silencio se han mantenido&lt;br /&gt;es una ilusion suplicando no ser dejada en el olvido&lt;br /&gt;con unos ojos prestados&lt;br /&gt;con unas manos ajenas&lt;br /&gt;en un rostro pintado al que una vez observe hasta perderme en el zafiro de sus pupilas&lt;br /&gt;en esa sonrisa con mirada que empezaba melancolica y parecia escudriñar hasta el lugar mas recóndito de los salones que en mucho tiempo nadie visitó&lt;br /&gt;y con esa tranquilidad como que el mundo es quien le pide prestado el tiempo&lt;br /&gt;pero era una ilusion al fin y al cabo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;asi es como vuelvo a coger el lente de aumento y noto el moho en esta reliquia&lt;br /&gt;respiro las esporas que deja volar en el aire mientras lo acerco a mi rostro&lt;br /&gt;ya no me afectan&lt;br /&gt;son particulas de polvo, nada mas&lt;br /&gt;empaqueto con cuidado esto como un recordatorio de lo que aqui paso&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;todos estamos consternados&lt;br /&gt;todos juntos pasamos por esto y aun asi debemos seguir&lt;br /&gt;para no volver a caer en la inanimidad depresiva&lt;br /&gt;en el circulo vicioso de no querer y volver a hacerlo&lt;br /&gt;encargando a alguien mas el rumbo de una vida que tan solo nos pertenece a nosotros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;limpio los rastros de pisadas en el area&lt;br /&gt;es gracioso... eran las mias... aunque estoy con los mismos pies no uso el mismo calzado de esa vez&lt;br /&gt;tampoco peso lo mismo&lt;br /&gt;ni me rio de lo mismo pero si disfruto de lo que solia en esa epoca y de un par de cosas mas&lt;br /&gt;y me rio... como pude trastabillar tan torpemente&lt;br /&gt;hasta puedo trazar en que punto eso se hizo a proposito&lt;br /&gt;veo por donde paso el proyectil y las esquirlas que dejo en la pared junto a mi&lt;br /&gt;manchas de la sangre que broto de los roces que me dejo&lt;br /&gt;una mano roja con trazos de cabello que sin duda fueron mios alguna vez&lt;br /&gt;y veo la otra mas fresca como punto de apoyo para levantarme&lt;br /&gt;una marca mas fuerte que se hundio en el piso indicando el punto en el que me levante con fuerza para seguir adelante&lt;br /&gt;parece un circo, lo se... cuanta gente observo el espectaculo, no preste tanta atencion&lt;br /&gt;solo se... que fue un mate de risa como sali de ahi&lt;br /&gt;aunque a veces, como hoy, regreso para ver que me perdi&lt;br /&gt;ya nadie queda para indicarme por donde vino que... solo noto los trazos de lo que una vez sucedio... un miercoles.... un viernes... un sabado... y un lunes... para despues dejarse ir... y yo pegue un salto por la ventana esperando que las esquirlas de vidrio hicieran algo similar en quien lanzo el proyectil... aunque no se si dio resultado pues nunca llegue a ver atras con claridad&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8444171668783135166?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8444171668783135166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8444171668783135166' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8444171668783135166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8444171668783135166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/05/csi.html' title='csi'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2873378270483516667</id><published>2007-05-19T15:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-19T15:42:16.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'>filthy</title><content type='html'>saturday, it barely feels like that&lt;br /&gt;unusual... as i would really care about it&lt;br /&gt;stressed... not at all&lt;br /&gt;melancholic... just a little&lt;br /&gt;impressed by the time that has gone between my fingers&lt;br /&gt;and i stop&lt;br /&gt;just to think about better things i've to do...&lt;br /&gt;read you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2873378270483516667?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2873378270483516667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2873378270483516667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2873378270483516667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2873378270483516667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/05/filthy.html' title='filthy'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1873298888157177019</id><published>2007-04-26T23:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T23:22:57.115-05:00</updated><title type='text'>get up</title><content type='html'>been depressed... getting better, reporting... soon&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1873298888157177019?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1873298888157177019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1873298888157177019' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1873298888157177019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1873298888157177019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2007/04/get-up.html' title='get up'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2579164187421660645</id><published>2006-12-01T16:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-01T16:10:04.446-05:00</updated><title type='text'>one day at the time</title><content type='html'>every day i've been looking forward to the end of the semester&lt;br /&gt;a mark to star to do what i want to&lt;br /&gt;and i looked around&lt;br /&gt;i realised  that everyone was looking forward something else because they don't like completely (or at all) what they're into right now&lt;br /&gt;and that's how days go by&lt;br /&gt;months are spent&lt;br /&gt;and a year is gone&lt;br /&gt;and we get older and older... and people are still stuck on what they don't like completely (or at all)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyway... that's something i don't want for my life anymore&lt;br /&gt;so travel i will, know what's beyond the borders and far away... there's a lot to learn about!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2579164187421660645?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2579164187421660645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2579164187421660645' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2579164187421660645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2579164187421660645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/12/one-day-at-time.html' title='one day at the time'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-757804318164789550</id><published>2006-11-28T21:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-28T21:45:02.721-05:00</updated><title type='text'>-.0</title><content type='html'>rock it by... bye... bye&lt;br /&gt;everything's gonna be alright&lt;br /&gt;used to listen to that tune when i was feeling down back in the 90s&lt;br /&gt;now i'm eager to leave this place but with a better attitude&lt;br /&gt;twas funny to remember that detail!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-757804318164789550?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/757804318164789550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=757804318164789550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/757804318164789550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/757804318164789550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/0.html' title='-.0'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2705387544136144839</id><published>2006-11-24T17:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-24T17:04:01.847-05:00</updated><title type='text'>scrwdp</title><content type='html'>i've risked a lot... i just can't wait until this semester is done&lt;br /&gt;i just... want to get over this as soon as possible&lt;br /&gt;demons&lt;br /&gt;music calms down  beast&lt;br /&gt;hasn't felt it as true as now  with this song "no lo sabes... yo tampoco"...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2705387544136144839?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2705387544136144839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2705387544136144839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2705387544136144839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2705387544136144839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/scrwdp.html' title='scrwdp'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116430547391898517</id><published>2006-11-23T12:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-23T13:11:14.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>life's what you make out of it</title><content type='html'>the sun is shining down here&lt;br /&gt;even so&lt;br /&gt;it feels so gloom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;staring at someone's picture while i wonder  if this is all in life&lt;br /&gt;and i refuse to comform&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the only thing that makes people  moving&lt;br /&gt;is the feeling of not being comfortable&lt;br /&gt;that's what keeps them striving to something else&lt;br /&gt;someone else&lt;br /&gt;somewhere else&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm not comfortable&lt;br /&gt;will i ever be?&lt;br /&gt;i guess i won't&lt;br /&gt;at least i'll be for a moment&lt;br /&gt;but then i'll keep moving&lt;br /&gt;that might be the reason why i've lost someone&lt;br /&gt;or myself... no... not myself&lt;br /&gt;still so&lt;br /&gt;i don't feel like singing today... or at least now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;everyday i'm getting close to the conclusion that there's no reason to make any effort to "fit in"&lt;br /&gt;we're already here so we "fit in" just the way we are&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;getting closer yet so far&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116430547391898517?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116430547391898517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116430547391898517' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116430547391898517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116430547391898517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/lifes-what-you-make-out-of-it.html' title='life&apos;s what you make out of it'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116400542994978472</id><published>2006-11-20T00:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-20T01:50:29.996-05:00</updated><title type='text'>keep it high</title><content type='html'>we remember some features when we meet people&lt;br /&gt;in fact, we focus in a few of them when we meet people&lt;br /&gt;i focus in the eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and that's, until today, the best way to knock me down at once&lt;br /&gt;eyes like Hrithik Roshan's are my greatest weakness in my known world&lt;br /&gt;i can be completely indifferent to everything and show a stone heart to everyone&lt;br /&gt;but&lt;br /&gt;with those eyes... i just don't find reason, even just for joking, to play that role&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116400542994978472?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116400542994978472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116400542994978472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116400542994978472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116400542994978472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/keep-it-high.html' title='keep it high'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116381521503855702</id><published>2006-11-17T20:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T21:00:15.046-05:00</updated><title type='text'>just rock it</title><content type='html'>i've seen many eyes&lt;br /&gt;deceiveful, trustful, dreamy and sick&lt;br /&gt;but eyes like these&lt;br /&gt;oh my&lt;br /&gt;only once for a short time&lt;br /&gt;getting lost in a illusion&lt;br /&gt;just taking the leap just like there was nothing else to do in this life&lt;br /&gt;i'm just planing around&lt;br /&gt;dreaming around&lt;br /&gt;again&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116381521503855702?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116381521503855702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116381521503855702' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116381521503855702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116381521503855702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/just-rock-it.html' title='just rock it'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116293036277757832</id><published>2006-11-07T14:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-07T15:12:42.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'>call it</title><content type='html'>insanity&lt;br /&gt;or whatever&lt;br /&gt;i know what i wanted since the very first time i knew about fantasy&lt;br /&gt;that i wanted it to be real&lt;br /&gt;kinda frustrating&lt;br /&gt;kinda hard to admit&lt;br /&gt;that it's easier to sit down and comform with all that reality has to offer, which is not a little, but still forgetting about all those adventures that are supposed to belong to dream's realm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i used to walk a lot there&lt;br /&gt;i used to play even more there&lt;br /&gt;then i used to escape there like i had nothing here... like i cared about nothing here&lt;br /&gt;and then i realised i couldn't live like that because i was here&lt;br /&gt;and then i started to live here&lt;br /&gt;and yesterday&lt;br /&gt;i visited that place again&lt;br /&gt;it was awesome&lt;br /&gt;it was like in the old days&lt;br /&gt;no&lt;br /&gt;it was even better&lt;br /&gt;and i felt strange... because i couldn't reach that place with my own hands&lt;br /&gt;i couldn't be with them, i couldn't be part of them&lt;br /&gt;i was in between&lt;br /&gt;and then... i started to write this down&lt;br /&gt;to see if somehow&lt;br /&gt;someday&lt;br /&gt;i find some kind of sense in all this situation&lt;br /&gt;which has been part of my life since i can recall my own conscience&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116293036277757832?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116293036277757832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116293036277757832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116293036277757832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116293036277757832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/call-it.html' title='call it'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116261871152508263</id><published>2006-11-04T00:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-04T00:38:31.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>orientación vocacional</title><content type='html'>la educación ha perdido orientación...&lt;br /&gt;ahora va al colegio hasta quien no quiere&lt;br /&gt;ingresa quien no le interesa&lt;br /&gt;y egresa quien menos le importa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;todo por... tener una chamba con la cual pagar los gastos y... sobrevivir&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;por eso mismo antes de embriagar a la gente con sueños de la casa bonita, los viajes perfectos y las compras interminables asociándolo directamente al trabajo que se vaya a desempeñar hay una pregunta básica y casi risible que se debería presentar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;QUE HARÍAS SI TUVIERAS YA 100 MILLONES DE (euros-libras-dolares-ponga la moneda que ud. prefiera)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;así la gente sería algo más sincera consigo misma y con su vocación pues no se puede pedir que la gente conteste cabalmente si ya se le mete la paranoia de la pobreza, rechazo, desesperanza y demás... dioses, vaya ud. a saber cuántos terminan con sus ingresos a punta de adicciones con las cuales tratan de escaparse de esa triste realidad a la que se metieron con la promesa de conseguir el estilo de vida deseado... o envidiado? pues seamos francos, muchos parchan sus carencias personales con cuanta cacharpa y accesorio encuentren en el mercado que de la imagne de tener "status" o "clase" y estar en un nivel muy aparte del "populorum"... dioses, la capacidad de administración de dinero y/o mando no es hereditaria, para ejemplo ya se tiene la laaarga lista de cambios de regentes en todos los tipos de gobierno desde que la humanidad requirio echarle la guía de su sociedad a un grupo de gatos que eran más capaces que el resto, o al menos así parecían pues al resto le fue suficiente para mantenerl@ ahí o no tuvo el coraje de arriesgarse por su cuenta, en fin, eso es historia...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;obviamente la respuesta sería mas cercana a la vocación y madurez actual del individuo lo que es crucialmente importante cuando ya te embarcas a estudiar algo en lo que (en teoría) dedicarás tus días.... asi que sea quien sea que lea esto... a ver si también da su empujón a arreglar este desbarajuste educacional con repercusiones en el mercado laboral tanto cualitativa como cuantitativamente que acarreó la psicosis de "sin cartón eres nadie"...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116261871152508263?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116261871152508263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116261871152508263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116261871152508263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116261871152508263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/11/orientacin-vocacional.html' title='orientación vocacional'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116225545875411831</id><published>2006-10-30T19:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-30T19:44:18.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'>had to say</title><content type='html'>one song which i don't know why did you told me to pay attention to&lt;br /&gt;now i miss you&lt;br /&gt;hell n you know you're a great friend for me&lt;br /&gt;you've been when i was up, down and almost all the possible cases that i could be&lt;br /&gt;i tried to be there for you too but well, i'm happy to know that there's someone who catches you better than i could have ever done&lt;br /&gt;now i don't know where are you&lt;br /&gt;a last farewell and i didn't see you face when i got into my place&lt;br /&gt;then not even a single word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you disappeared&lt;br /&gt;and now&lt;br /&gt;that i listen to that song&lt;br /&gt;i wonder... what's going on with you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and then you complained of my cloak/decloaking ability!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i hope to know about you soon but above all&lt;br /&gt;that you're doing great :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116225545875411831?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116225545875411831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116225545875411831' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116225545875411831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116225545875411831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/had-to-say.html' title='had to say'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116216617971158940</id><published>2006-10-29T18:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-29T18:56:19.720-05:00</updated><title type='text'>aid</title><content type='html'>free will is part of everyone's nature&lt;br /&gt;we choose every second every time&lt;br /&gt;taking charge of our own lives&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and with that free will we trample over someone else as we help&lt;br /&gt;as we let it happen to someone else... we carry on because we choose not to get involved&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aid/help/actions/words&lt;br /&gt;it's something everyone has asked for in their lives&lt;br /&gt;since we come to this world we need to be aid to live and to learn to carry on by ourselves&lt;br /&gt;but i wonder&lt;br /&gt;when comes the moment when everyone forgets how important was to be aid to oneself so we don't help anyone else even if we can do it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in a self centered view, pretending that we're the only ones who deserve to be aided when we're in trouble and forgetting about others feeling the same when we're fine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and we talk about friendship and brother/sisterhood&lt;br /&gt;but somehow, we forget that the world doesn't end at our backyard...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we're just one element of the environment&lt;br /&gt;nothing more, nothing less&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we have no more rights than the other who lives far away from our known world even if we don't know them... we're bound into this same world... that's something we must never forget&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116216617971158940?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116216617971158940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116216617971158940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116216617971158940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116216617971158940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/aid.html' title='aid'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116129308138691082</id><published>2006-10-19T16:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-21T13:35:56.643-05:00</updated><title type='text'>de algo sirve el espejo retrovisor</title><content type='html'>Hay muchas cosas que he hecho que si bien no son motivo de orgullo tampoco lo son de arrepentimiento&lt;br /&gt;Hay gente que salio afectada por mis tonterias, por mi inaccion, por mi patetico uso de argumentos&lt;br /&gt;No puedo remendar el pasado, ni hay accion que hoy pueda resarcir las faltas... solo puedo emplear HOY para hacer lo que debo y miren que se me otorgo esa oportunidad.&lt;br /&gt;Ella fue una de las personas que por mi ceguera, cobardia y estolidez fue afectada... en cierta manera viendo la retrospectiva, de cierto modo hice un favor al ayudar a salir de la influencia de un fulano que, cual personaje de Nausicaa, vivia y vive del miedo tratando de jalar a todos a su hoyo para no sentirse solo... pero esa "ayuda" no fue ni intencional y mas bien accidentada... los años han pasado y estamos de acuerdo al decir que realmente la vida estuvo y esta mejor sin el.&lt;br /&gt;Desde hace un buen tiempo ella escribe en su &lt;a href="http://otromundocotidiano.blogspot.com"&gt;blog&lt;/a&gt; y parece que desde hace un buen tiempo ambas queriamos decir casi lo mismo y creo que las disculpas y perdones por ambos lados han sido recibidos y saben?, me alegra que de una vez por todas pueda conocer a una persona de la cual casi siempre tuve una buena referencia. Gracias por esta oportunidad Angela! :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;de algo sirve el espejo retrovisor... puedes seguir tu camino sin perder lo que es importante pero por lo pronto no esta adelante... aprender a mirar sin estrellarte, ni retroceder a cada rato... life's a highway some say, so let's ride as far as we can reach and much further!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En serio Angela, gracias por estas nuevas circunstancias! :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116129308138691082?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116129308138691082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116129308138691082' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116129308138691082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116129308138691082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/de-algo-sirve-el-espejo-retrovisor.html' title='de algo sirve el espejo retrovisor'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116123328660477704</id><published>2006-10-18T23:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-21T09:47:49.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'>love child</title><content type='html'>somewhere to start... for me was to find love, everyone believes in it but not everyone can explain it clearly..&lt;br/&gt;i was lost because i didn't want to see where i was standing on&lt;br/&gt;i thought that i could escape for a long time but deep inside i knew it wasn't working, so i tried (stupidly) to hide my head by closing my eyes and repeating to myself "i'm not closing my eyes"&lt;br/&gt;but i got out of my own stupidity&lt;br/&gt;and the light didn't hurt me, in fact, nothing hurt me at all&lt;br/&gt;the pain i felt was the load i didn't want to accept for that long time&lt;br/&gt;and when i did&lt;br/&gt;i realised i was able to handle it, in fact, i always had been able to do it&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;and so here i am&lt;br/&gt;with my loads, traveling light, looking for a life on my own always aware that i'm just another element in this story and that there's no reason to walk over the unknown or escape from uncertainty, we always have what is needed to face what we have to, fear not! &lt;br/&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116123328660477704?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116123328660477704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116123328660477704' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116123328660477704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116123328660477704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/love-child.html' title='love child'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116104492981862203</id><published>2006-10-16T19:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-21T09:47:17.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'>aprendiendo</title><content type='html'>hoy tuve una gran satisfaccion... que me dijeran en que me habia equivocado y esa persona supo desde el inicio que no debia temer en hacerme notar ello, me alegro mucho que comprendiera :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116104492981862203?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116104492981862203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116104492981862203' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116104492981862203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116104492981862203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/aprendiendo.html' title='aprendiendo'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116070982738491233</id><published>2006-10-12T22:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T22:23:47.396-05:00</updated><title type='text'>514</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;hace cinco siglos con 3.8 quinquenios un grupo de personas llego a la isla San Salvador y su capitan penso "albricias albricias! a la India hemos llegado!"... fue y regreso de su punto de origen 3 veces mas lo que llamo a mas paisanos y no tan paisanos a aventurarse por esta nueva ruta hacia las "Indias" (o algo parecido) buscando un mejor futuro al fin y al cabo... y asi nacio America, entraron por el caribe y fueron llegando cada vez mas al norte y al sur. La Gran America (en homenaje a Americo Vespucio), estaba siendo descubierta y conquistada por los hermanos europeos... y los siglos pasaron... un grupo de personas al norte se dieron cuenta que no tenian por que rendirle mas cuentas a los mandos al otro lado del charco (O. Atlantico) asi que armaronse y consiguieron indenpendizarse, por lo menos de corazon, de aquel lazo. Una respuesta similar se dio en Europa que reboto al sur de America que con las vertientes libertadoras desde ambos frentes del continente lograron que, por lo menos de corazon, America terminara su relacion subyugada con la, hasta entonces llamada, Madre Patria...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas años pasaron, algunas regiones lograron integrarse con mayor rapidez y exito que otras al tiempo que hay las que hasta hoy aun se cuestionan como por que o con quien integrarse... una discordia, un divorcio consigo misma, esa falta de identificacion de esto tan lindo que es la Gran America.&lt;br /&gt;Su historia es diversa y  confrontada pero ante todo y sobre todo rica por la fusion de etnias y costumbres que hacen surgir esta nueva cultura que por decision puede tomar (y lo hace) los mejores elementos de cada grupo para cocinar algo propio... pues ya sea por movimiento interno o externo, la riqueza de America esta en los inmigrantes que con respeto, tolerancia y buena voluntad viven juntos para día a día demostrar que no hay que esperar a estar muerto para vivir en el paraíso...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Salud por este día, herman@s de América!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;five centuries with 3.8 five-year period ago a group of people arrived to San Salvador island and its capitan thought "congratulations! congratulations! to India we've arrived!"... they went and came back from their origin point 3 more times which called more compatriots and not-that-compatriots to be ventured on this new route to "India" (or something like) looking for a better future in the end... and that's how America was born, they came in through the caribbean and they were reaching more to the north and south. The Great America (in homage to Americo Vespucio) was being discovered and conquered by the european brothers... and centuries came by... a group of people on the north of America realised that they didn't have to give more explanations to the authorities on the other side of the ditch (Atlantic O.) so they took arms and they got their independence, at least in their hearts, from that tie. A similar response arose in Europe that bounced back to the south of America which with the freedom forces from on both sides of the continent they got that, at least in their hearts, America finished their subjugated relationship with the, until that day called, Mother Land...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More years passed by, some regions integrated faster and with more success than others at the same time that there are some regions that until today still question about the whys or with who do they have to integrate... a discord, an internal divorce, that lack of identity with this beautiful continent, the Great America.&lt;br /&gt;Its history is as diverse and comfronted but before and above all, rich by the fusion of ethnic groups and traditions which makes arise a new culture that can choose (and it does) the best elements of each group to cook something of their own... because whether it's by internal or external movement, America's wealth resides on the inmigrants whom with respect, tolerance and good will live together to prove day by day that you don't have to die to live in paradise...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheers for this day, brothers and sisters of America!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116070982738491233?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116070982738491233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116070982738491233' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116070982738491233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116070982738491233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/514.html' title='514'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116058757727382978</id><published>2006-10-11T12:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-11T12:26:17.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'>re-load</title><content type='html'>aaaah... la renovacion despues de perder sangre... mucho por hacer, eh?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116058757727382978?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116058757727382978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116058757727382978' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116058757727382978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116058757727382978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/re-load.html' title='re-load'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-116034027158983796</id><published>2006-10-08T15:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-08T15:44:31.596-05:00</updated><title type='text'>jazz</title><content type='html'>hacia mucho que no escuchaba musica "de adultos" dicese brasileña (esa como Águas de Março) o jazz del que ponian en los cortos de Popeye (Chet Baker)... es que acaso la escena contemporanea ya resulta tan anodina? bueh... hay demasiado que escuchar es cierto y es terriblemente probable que muera sin haber escuchado ni la mitad de lo que me gustaria escuchar... tanta musica, tan poco tiempo... aaaah... solo a disfrutar lo que se puede :D PERO SI ALGUIEN ENCUENTRA 24TH GRAND STREET DE MICHAEL L. PIRKINS LE ESTARE MUY AGRADECIDA SI ME LA PASA!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-116034027158983796?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/116034027158983796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=116034027158983796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116034027158983796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/116034027158983796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/10/jazz.html' title='jazz'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-115765174896589041</id><published>2006-09-07T12:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-16T17:35:37.803-05:00</updated><title type='text'>000</title><content type='html'>this is how it starts... with everything started around, like reaching your seat with the movie started...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a kidnapped girl who scapes and survives to tell, a man dies, a woman runs to elections, arguments exposed to the whole world leaving people to take action to the lies they've been told to believe... good point to start...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-115765174896589041?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/115765174896589041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=115765174896589041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/115765174896589041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/115765174896589041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/09/000.html' title='000'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5493705706140050555</id><published>2006-06-28T17:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:52:07.751-05:00</updated><title type='text'>~_~</title><content type='html'>is it what i think it seems? i'm to tired to feel the difference, in fact, i just don't want to make the effort to feel it... and i fall into that trap i've built for myself... it's the same sound (that song is amazing) without words takes me to another place, where i can take a break from everything.. no one there but me and all the shadows i can summon there, i wish they weren't just shadows... but hell, if everything would be as easy as that, i think i wouldn't spend as much time here as i do...&lt;br /&gt;and i admit it, i'm addicted to fantasy, traveled there too often to notice when i departed and when i arrived... it's so perfect... and it's so painful to know "it's not real"... and yet, i do it again... and again, and again... creeping feelings down my spine when i feel the wind or the vertigo when i'm jumping or just smiling at a character on my mind... yeah if someone asks me, i've written all that... some say i shouldn't do it anymore... so do i... but... i've found no reason strong enough to stop myself from doing it, in fact, once i did... but is gone...&lt;br /&gt; Currently listening:&lt;br /&gt;Tsubasa Chronicle: Future Soundscape V.1&lt;br /&gt;By: Japanimation&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5493705706140050555?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5493705706140050555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5493705706140050555' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5493705706140050555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5493705706140050555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/blog-post_28.html' title='~_~'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1481854052102155311</id><published>2006-06-27T23:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:49:20.047-05:00</updated><title type='text'>+_+</title><content type='html'>sniffin under my pillow... no it isn't there... i take my blankets off... there it is... lost for centuries, that single part i was starting to get used to get out without... patience&lt;br /&gt;grabbing all these things making a big ball of furry memories to throw to the corner of my room, the less walked one... lights are still dim, i don't care, i can't stay here anymore&lt;br /&gt;i'm draggin my bones to the bathroom, a quick shower, i go out, clothes on me again, close to be ready... today is hunting day? oh poor of them, i'm starting to feel sorry for them... but well, if they're fool enough to swallow the decoy, well, they might be breathing someone else's air...&lt;br /&gt;i open the curtains, the sky is so fair, quiet... alien to all mortal's affairs and yet, with something that seems charity more than anything else, lets a few rays to touch us in those moments when we're too alone to notice the crowd we're into... i say hi... it's been a long time (yeah, just one day) and farewell, i'm departing to my new adventure, new preys, more action... just... another way to feel my blood in my veins... but tonight... i feel more like climbing to the highest part and stare at the stars while i write about those silly things i've done once (and again)... i grab my notebook.. and the camera.. if i change my mood i'd like pics of the events&lt;br /&gt;flirty city, it'll allure anyone who hasn't met her yet, will let them fall into their traps and it'll swallow them without chewing them first... and then... just spit them when they're not juicy enough... who's today's fool? just temember, if it happens to you, let it drain you as quick as you can, so you can get out sooner and recover even faster, if you screwed up, then do it until you reach the bottom, never leave something half-done&lt;br /&gt;DAMN IT where am i? i shouldn't write and walk at the same time, that's how i've lost my path the last times!... anyway, looks like something could happen here.. well, let's make it happen&lt;br /&gt;1... 2... 3... jump... turn.... shoot... hang on... swing twice, let loose.... fly for 4 seconds... don't hit the wall with your head (it always hurt)... turn.... climb... climb... climb... climb... (damn it! this is high!)... oh demons... wacky ones chasing me, at least it worked.... run... grab your stuff, you don't wanna let it drop here... aim high... shoot... oh demons, i should have left the spare hooks at home... so i guess, this is the moment when i put everything on my back... and fight... a fair fight...&lt;br /&gt;oh demons... they weren't that much the last time i looked back.... anyway... it's me or them... let's make it "them"... as long as i can... &lt;br /&gt; Currently listening:&lt;br /&gt;Weiss Kreuz Best Album&lt;br /&gt;By: Japanimation&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1481854052102155311?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1481854052102155311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1481854052102155311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1481854052102155311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1481854052102155311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/blog-post_27.html' title='+_+'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1289561425320232967</id><published>2006-06-26T00:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:48:02.484-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"shall we dance?"</title><content type='html'>fingers tipping on the keys... introducing us to: ourselves... a look, a little glance to realise this is the time we were waiting for... a brief smile, no fear and we start&lt;br /&gt;321 321... that's how we met, i was strolling down the hill and you suddenly appeared -  -  what? did i miss something? oh my you've got my hat... brief chat, hi &amp; good bye... the carnival started and i'm not ready yet... but you look so beautiful you said... oh, you said...&lt;br /&gt;i look at the sky... glamourous clouds crown the sun without hesitation... and you held me, slightly dizzy i felt, and yes, it's so strange because i don't feel uncomfortable even knowing we're strangers...&lt;br /&gt;3 2 ...1... 3 2 ...1 ... it's a kind of a natural development, the sun shines, the rain falls... and the way we fit together right in the precise moment, in the precise place... i can barely even think about forgetting it... ooh... then you smile&lt;br /&gt;am i getting late? am i missing my point? not at all i guess, this was one of those unexpected things to happen, we pictured them all of our lives and when it comes to be... FAR MUCH BETTER!&lt;br /&gt; Currently listening:&lt;br /&gt;Howl's Moving Castle&lt;br /&gt;By: Joe Hisaishi&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1289561425320232967?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1289561425320232967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1289561425320232967' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1289561425320232967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1289561425320232967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/shall-we-dance.html' title='&quot;shall we dance?&quot;'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5699059844314498973</id><published>2006-06-23T23:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:43:04.039-05:00</updated><title type='text'>-</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;just dropping a line to myself so i can remember this akward moment when i'm getting someone's help 57 minutes to midnight... (55 less and it'd be iron maiden's) anyway... today i knew that the doctor won't be able to heal Tiamat's disease, so we'll watch him getting worse (eventually)... it's part of life some say... but hell, i've gotta get over it and enjoy every day that is left with Tiamat, the Great&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;on the other hand i'm getting sick of school, more than before, but hell, i'm close to the end.. i can't give up, not again&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt; &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;I&gt;and if you ever had something to tell me...&lt;/I&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt; &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt; &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT size="7" face="Courier New, Courier, mono"&gt;&lt;B&gt;SAY IT FOR GODSAKE!!!&lt;/B&gt;&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;time waits for nobody, death comes to us all&lt;BR/&gt;and it sucks to recall your life with sentences that begin with "what if i" of " i should/could/would have..."... there are few things that are really yours to give in this existence, your life is one of them, shape it according to your decisions without fear, obligation or guilt...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;and above all&lt;BR/&gt;read more books and watch less tv... or was it read more tv and watch less books.... o book more tvs and read less watches? whatever... i think you've got the point &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5699059844314498973?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5699059844314498973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5699059844314498973' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5699059844314498973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5699059844314498973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/blog-post.html' title='-'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5377682976839751769</id><published>2006-06-20T15:09:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:38:37.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'>analyze this</title><content type='html'>these weeks i've been talking with a friend, someone i met again before my winter trip, ain't that amazing how people evolves with all that they have to go through? well, that was what happened then and it was great to find out that we still had each other for good conversations, support, jokes and that insanity which becomes part of yourself after you're exposed to all that stuff that takes you out of this reality without being illegal, hey! i mean mangas, comics, anime, movies, etc, etc.&lt;br /&gt;Well, this fella has been going out with a girl since then, and things haven't been working out as well as both of them wanted, they've realised none of them want to "lose this time", she doesn't want to admit they're in something more than "going out" (even when she acts like she wants it) and he refuses to admit he's thinking much further than just a "bf/gf status". But they're stuck with each other... to be rejected by the other and swallow that loneliness (again)&lt;br /&gt;It's almost like the song says, they're under each other's thumb... conformism, restless conformism, preffering a "better than nothing" than being on themselves, forget about a "good shag" almost every night and someone who'll hold them when they're sleeping... sounds almost sweet, isn't it? but what if there are a lot of things unsaid of if your partner doesn't want to change things that hurt you and themselves too?... as far as i know (and he realised it too) it's like a hideout from all those things they don't want to accept of the world, and basically, of themselves.&lt;br /&gt;So that's how i've become some sort of psychologist, without anyone's permission but my own, listening, asking and realising once again that people, boys and girls, women and men are looking basically for the same pack "someone to share" and the features of those "dreamed ones" repeat once and again, and again and again...&lt;br /&gt;Then i wonder why is it too hard for almost everyone to find "the right one"... some find them... but they don't feel like they deserve them... some don't see them even when they're next to them... so it's kinda funny, ironic... on the other hand, everyone has an ideal, but is everyone the ideal's ideal?... may be that's the problem... aiming high, without being ready for it... and that's how we miss, we lose, we face we weren't good enough for it... and most of the time, people chooses for staying where they're instead of changing those things that didn't help to get their goals, even so, they don't change the target... and obviously, it won't work... so that's how people ends frustrated and angry with life, but deep inside they know they aren't angry with life, they're angry with themselves... and even when they have all the tools to change it, they don't because "it's better to stay on the known and 'safe' side instead of breaking one's self-set limits"...&lt;br /&gt;Currently listening:&lt;br /&gt;Lullaby&lt;br /&gt;By: Shawn Mullins&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5377682976839751769?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5377682976839751769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5377682976839751769' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5377682976839751769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5377682976839751769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/analyze-this.html' title='analyze this'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-9174961244512170669</id><published>2006-06-18T12:42:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:44:59.257-05:00</updated><title type='text'>empty spaces</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;looking around before the last show starts&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;we're all tired.. too tired to tell... but we have to go on, there's one last show left... with broken hearts, silly thoughts and the brightness of the first time gone... we have nothing else but ourselves to find the inspiration for it... we can't quit now&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;who'll replace those corpses on the ground?... and regardless of the situation, we have to smile&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;picking up my stuff, putting everything together just for the moment, that last battle we must stand... hell, too tired, too tired to tell... even so, we have to go on and never let the lights catch us crying... that's when i find my inspiration, just one more time, one more time... one... more... time... and it'll be done&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;will they ever wonder how did we do this? will they ever understand what took us to make this true? they'll just clap if they liked it, whether we really sacrificed or not...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;never let the sun catch you crying... never let the lights catch you without smiling... cry their name, summon your demons to fight and your angels to hold the last breath you don't want to give up... cry their name, and die...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;i don't know what else is coming after this, all i know is that i must go through this, i shouldn't care, i shouldn't mourn, i shouldn't even turn back to see those who have fallen... but hell (once again) i do... holding my devices of art, blood and sweat on my face, that dirty disaster on my head, my body is weak by now... i barely can breath... but i take that last race... and i charge one last time... &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;I&gt;hey... feels like the first time here&lt;/I&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Currently listening:&lt;br /&gt;Innuendo&lt;br /&gt;By Queen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-9174961244512170669?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/9174961244512170669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=9174961244512170669' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9174961244512170669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9174961244512170669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/empty-spaces.html' title='empty spaces'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5286106210347504325</id><published>2006-06-14T23:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:24:40.772-05:00</updated><title type='text'>short</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#000099" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;"trust me" was never said... yet i did... that's why i'm walking back home alone again, wondering if all that was said was true...&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#000099" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;"trusting someone shouldn't be that hard, people makes it hard" even so, knowing it i did, i'm closer to the place i sleep, or i'll just change my clothes to go out again&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#ffcc00" style="background-color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;"i don't think we'll ever meet again" i thought, that idea struck my mind as fast as i discarded any other chance, trying to put everything in that big bag of past and "try to forget" things... "it should be easier, i mean, it's my mind isn't it?... but hell it is not"&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#000099" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;i was looking at that amount of snow at my door, "i should make time to play with it before it melts" then i thought about the ridiculous metaphore relating to what happened, "that's insane, i'm sabotaging myself", opened my door, got in and just took a shower and changed my clothes, and got out, i don't want to let myself lie on the bed and stare at the roof's imperfections letting my mind find patterns which will remind me the latest events... go out... go out... even when i know that i won't be able to escape from myself and i don't wanna die, not now... i just... want to do something else, ok?&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#ffcc00" style="background-color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;i was packing my stuff, this will be over soon, and in another place this will be easier to forget, there are a lot of things better to do, there's a lot of exciting people, new situations, i'll be so busy that i won't realise when the time is gone completely... i guess it happens to everyone&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;theres a lot unknown between... and we'll live with that all the time, trusting, hoping, relying on them without any "real" argument but our subjective beliefs, trying to open our eyes in a world that demands us to keep them close and walk&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#000099" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;i'm with my crew, my people, my friends, we're laughing, they're happy for having this time all together... even so, that missing part, hell could i give myself a break?&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#ffcc00" style="background-color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;this place is amazing, much better than the first time i came&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT color="#000099" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;these are odd events, and it helped me in a very odd way to get over a lot of things... my blood still calls for something which isn't here... so i guess i must go for it wherever it is, whatever it is...&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;that's how we weave our lives, sometimes reality overcomes fiction, sometimes it can be incredibly boring but it'll be just because the cast doesn't want to make it change... the script is on our hands and we can do with it whatever we want, sometime it'll require us to go against the plot we're into, it'll require more courage and effort, but in the end, it won't stay the way we didn't want it to be... we'll be able to see how it was only when we die&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5286106210347504325?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5286106210347504325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5286106210347504325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5286106210347504325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5286106210347504325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/short.html' title='short'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2864198334547089291</id><published>2006-06-14T23:18:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:22:57.784-05:00</updated><title type='text'>jokes</title><content type='html'>it's hard to classify something that is begining to be... when you find something you missed a long time ago, yet sometimes comes to your mind pretty often (well, not that often), and just when you find it, seems to fit better than it did the first time&lt;br /&gt;the rhythm on the music, the smell in the air... your blood tapping your fingertips in harmony with the sound... the past is trying to take over the situation again because "now" doesn't seem to be better than yesterday, even so, there's still something to do to fix it, isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;so that's how i recalled that song, even when i preffer it on the short version "it can't rain all the time, the sky won't fall forever, it can't rain all the time, your tears won't fall forever"... a vague sound even in the movie, but i liked it a lot... in those days i found pretty interesting to walk in the rain, i still like rain as much as i like to walk on a sunny day... but now... i just look around, everything fits, everything works, i feel part of it... while smile and say "well, i'm ready to go, c'mon there's a lot to do!"... feeling lost sometimes but not as a strayed dog (cats are not lost, they're just having a trip)... not every wanderer is lost nor every walker has lost their path... it's part of this journey which nobody has ever written with directions before because no one has ever had the time to write about it when they really know it (which is when you're dead)&lt;br /&gt;so that's it, could anyone explain it to me?... and i know there won't be an answer because this is one of those things you have to live to learn, there are no words to explain it, there's no other way but face them&lt;br /&gt;at the end... what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, since being alive is all i need to go on, then... i just gotta keep going, i won't know what's behind the door if i don't open it&lt;br /&gt;oh... you might be wondering "and where's the joke?"... well the joke is on how am i taking life now, unexpectedly, while i'm trying to find myself in the past i'm slipping away from it because, even when it's very nice and i was happy then... that isn't now... so i can't linger and spend my time, not again.&lt;br /&gt;oh in the name of everything that is sacred... my kingdom, my kingdom for a link... well, nevermind, i can make it on my own... would you like to help?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Currently listening:&lt;br /&gt;Love Is Everything: Anthology (Dig)&lt;br /&gt;By Jane Siberry&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2864198334547089291?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2864198334547089291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2864198334547089291' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2864198334547089291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2864198334547089291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/jokes.html' title='jokes'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4511795930049787637</id><published>2006-06-09T14:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:16:05.719-05:00</updated><title type='text'>walk on...</title><content type='html'>starts with those sounds like glass or some kind of flute... "woke up this morning and the streets were full of cars..."&lt;br /&gt;that feeling regardless of the sunny sky&lt;br /&gt;woke up, not this morning, but by noon... after questioning and concluding that (hell, it's still hard to admit) i'm keeping this studies just for obligation, guilt and fear... that changes my posibilities to finish it quickly since if i'm not convinced i can't give a 100% to the task... so i have to reprogram myself before it's too late&lt;br /&gt;walked from the looniversity to home yesterday night... not a single bus to take me... but it was great, gave me time to think about the last paragraph and well, now i have a clearer mind for today&lt;br /&gt;so wondering what the hell am i doing while i'm doing it, since i find no reason to hold back it's just questioning the situation i've got in (one of a few)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4511795930049787637?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4511795930049787637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4511795930049787637' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4511795930049787637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4511795930049787637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/walk-on.html' title='walk on...'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-687691513836494544</id><published>2006-06-02T11:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T21:14:04.004-05:00</updated><title type='text'>2nd chance</title><content type='html'>it's not the most usual thing to be... but unexpectedly we've been given one more week to do the auditorium... that's awesome... i had it almost done (i don't like to see a roof coming down almost 3 feet even if it doesn't fall)... so we'll see whan can be done&lt;br /&gt;AWESOME!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-687691513836494544?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/687691513836494544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=687691513836494544' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/687691513836494544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/687691513836494544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/2nd-chance.html' title='2nd chance'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7651833024921985628</id><published>2006-06-02T02:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T03:14:16.542-05:00</updated><title type='text'>picking myself up</title><content type='html'>as easy as it sounds... but i can't take all the credit of that... destiny has been very kind with me lately, so i must do my best to keep it on my side (or at least keep myself closer to it)... ghost have faded away, but (paraphrasing led zep) the memory remains the same... it's great to feel my lungs full again!&lt;br /&gt;i'm not tired at all... realising about a few things a was afraid to admit but hell, at least i'll be done with this soon... then, wings and wind... i'll fly away wherever i have to&lt;br /&gt;it's funny to live some things like it'd be the last chance you'll ever have to make them... at least, i won't go to bed with that doubt in my head anymore...&lt;br /&gt;i feel tired... i must sleep... read you or see you, take care&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7651833024921985628?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7651833024921985628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7651833024921985628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7651833024921985628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7651833024921985628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/06/picking-myself-up.html' title='picking myself up'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6859620968265604291</id><published>2006-05-31T20:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T03:13:36.921-05:00</updated><title type='text'>.</title><content type='html'>with my eyes wide open... looking at the long distance to the ground right under my feet, skydiving... skydive, i'll try, i'll do... no fear nor a cry for justice, there's justice after all... whether we understand it or not&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6859620968265604291?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6859620968265604291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6859620968265604291' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6859620968265604291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6859620968265604291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_31.html' title='.'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-88850191909988959</id><published>2006-05-30T10:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T03:13:02.447-05:00</updated><title type='text'>escarbando-encontrando-limpiando-avanzando</title><content type='html'>fácil no lo notaste (espero que no lo hayas hecho) pero aun recuerdo cuando barajaba la idea de qué hubiera sido estar contigo y, zas!, tu ya habías empezado con alguien mas... amen y gracias... algo entre nos podría haber resultado desastroso! lo sé pues sé que tan fregada estaba en esos dias (oooh, esos días)... es curioso pero admito que hasta hoy me pregunto, y que le ve? por todos los cielos, debe ser un amor de gente pues hasta la fecha, no encuentro algo extraordinario, amen que apenas la conozco... en fin... no soy quien para dar cátedras sobre el amor.&lt;br /&gt;entre sonrisas y bromas ya quedó en evidencia que de algún modo, discordante para la lógica con la que suelo descifrarme, me atraes algo, no para perder el sentido pero sí para voltear la mirada con una sonrisa... en fin, lo dicho y hecho dejaron todo en claro, o al menos gran parte... o tal vez lo confundieron mas... en fin... el hecho es que ninguno de los dos tiene aun la duda de "que sería si..."... mas bien podrían haber nacido otros cuestionamientos pero en lo que a mi respecta, es asunto finito.&lt;br /&gt;es así que la tesis de "un clavo saca otro clavo" parece haber sido aplicada pero hay detalles que demuestran lo contrario... ningun clavo fue sacado pues no había nada clavado, sólo recuerdos tormentosos... no se clavó un nuevo elemento, fue algo como quitarse los "que sería si..." lo que dio pie a desahogarse más y poder respirar con mayor tranquilidad en esa área... es así que ahora puedo decir con total soltura, sin esperanzas ni decepciones, sólo como quien empieza un nuevo día... que genial es vivir la vida de soltería!!!!&lt;br /&gt;LONG LIFE TO THE SINGLE LIFE!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-88850191909988959?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/88850191909988959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=88850191909988959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/88850191909988959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/88850191909988959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/escarbando-encontrando-limpiando.html' title='escarbando-encontrando-limpiando-avanzando'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1597440948790838230</id><published>2006-05-28T05:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T02:20:58.228-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Canonical Disaster</title><content type='html'>oooh... i just need to end all this... at least i found the way to get some ideas out of my mind (Thanx Cesar!)... either way... this is my own fight my own project... as usual.. all alone.. on my own... who cares? i do, hell i do...&lt;br /&gt;anyway... i guess i'll be back to the living world after thrusday, it's the deadline for this strange project (there are only 3 left after that)... bye... read you or see you soon :D, like i use to say to my friends around here, may the force be with you..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1597440948790838230?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1597440948790838230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1597440948790838230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1597440948790838230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1597440948790838230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/canonical-disaster.html' title='Canonical Disaster'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5699423049195529972</id><published>2006-05-24T17:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:43:31.175-05:00</updated><title type='text'>dejame aprender (lo aprendido)</title><content type='html'>efectos de canciones, eventos del día que me recuerdan... lo que contigo aprendí..&lt;br /&gt;que estar colmado nunca es demasiado cuando se trata de cariño&lt;br /&gt;que estar perdido en tus ojos no era estar perdido&lt;br /&gt;que dejarme sin aliento y sostener la respiración en cada segundo tan sólo por oirte hablar no era morir... era tratar de contener lo incontenible... era sólo estar contigo&lt;br /&gt;que a pesar que el tiempo nos pase factura y el cuerpo demande descanso, nunca es tarde ni nunca se está demasiado cansado para seguir contigo... dormir... sólo cuando todo lo hayamos dicho y hecho&lt;br /&gt;y así te recuerdo... entre encontrado y perdido, entre perfecto y esquivo, sólo como esas cosas que suceden una vez...&lt;br /&gt;slide between my fingers, fade behind the air... and call that name (in silence)&lt;br /&gt;el reloj marcó su tiempo y todo tuvo que perecer... viajar a esas tierras donde siempre se mantendrá vivaz, enérgico, inacabable y sorpresivo... pero no más aquí... así nos marchamos, así viajamos... detener el tiempo? pedir demasiado  a los dioses que también sucumben ante su omnipotencia... ah... pequeños elementos residuales de todo este gran espectáculo de energía en el que estamos metido... mi vida continúa... los cielos no reclaman tu ausencia... las lágrimas se han secado... los ríos no se detendrán... levantaré mi mano... y tu, tal vez, tal vez... oh vaya... era tan sólo un recuerdo... otra vez&lt;br /&gt;aunque... si un día la curiosidad te gana... pregúntale a quien quieras, lo que ha sido para esta cómica contar esa historia mirando al vacío buscando tus ojos en algún lugar sabiendo que distante estás&lt;br /&gt;hay mucho que quisiera haber podido darte pero ya no lo tenía... es una de esas cosas que se van entregando en el camino y que después de haber aprendido te das cuenta que el precio pagado fue demasiado alto... y no hay lugar a devoluciones... no en esta vida... esto es lo que va quedando, sobre lo que me voy armando, con unas pequeñas marcas, recuerdo de lo que una vez se entregó, creciendo con más características de las que antes ni había tomado en consideración... pero no puedo evitar cuestionarme... el hecho que conociendome... habría sido posible crecer al mismo grado sin tener que haber pagado "ese" precio?... así me miro al espejo, pretendiendo que es a tí a quien miro a los ojos... y me pregunto si aun me tendrías aprecio al saber esas cosas... yo lo dudo... a mi misma me tomó buen tiempo aceptar tanta estupidez junta en una sola persona (siendo esa persona yo misma) pero q diablos... la vida continúa... y ya no puedo quedarme en lamentaciones... sólo que en el fondo, sé que sería genial seguir este viaje con alguien como tú...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5699423049195529972?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5699423049195529972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5699423049195529972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5699423049195529972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5699423049195529972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/dejame-aprender-lo-aprendido.html' title='dejame aprender (lo aprendido)'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-3548446031096234529</id><published>2006-05-23T21:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:25:22.013-05:00</updated><title type='text'>|\/| /\ |&gt; $</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono"&gt;"you, so called friend... where were you all this time? hiding behind your fake smile again? what? did you believe i'd swallow all your words without analyzing them?... whatever... so take a seat... and tell me, how are you doing? it's been pretty fine around here so far... sometimes i find myself like a kind of... mice in a cage, pondering how to take over the world, just to have some fun... so... well... didn't you have something to tell me? i think you do since you've been 'around' all this time, did you miss me? did you think about me? 'cos i did, and in some way, i did miss you too... but now... i feel so awkward... lost yet at home... i guess it's part of being a little bit stressed... or maybe it's just me talking to myself again... are you still there? are you paying attention? do you really care about these things i'm saying once in a while? do you?...&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono"&gt;well... but don't feel like i'm mad at you... i don't have a good reason to be, if you want to be like that with me, ok, it's your choice... but at least, be aware that i already know how bad your acting is... anyway, is everything going well with you? are you achieving all those things you wanted? i hope so... on my side... well... i'm still surfing between reality and dreamworld... sometimes i've seen myself talking with ghosts and holding shadows... like... now?"&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV align="right"&gt;&lt;FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono"&gt;En la errante soledad que me condeno al repasar estas páginas rebusco las respuestas a interrogantes que no sirven para la actualidad... todo fue... si la distancia e incomunicación fueran suficientes para olvidar... no seríamos capaces de recordar nuestra historia (demonios! y estar condenados a repetirla!)... así, habiendo aprendido de estos sucesos, cerraré los ojos para voltear la página y seguir con estas páginas en las que me encuentro escribiendo, eligiendo mis términos con el cuidado usual de mis discursos diarios... no se puede salvar lo que ya no está... mucho menos si es que no retribuye algún beneficio para la actualidad... ese frágil equilibrio entre dejar atrás sin descuidar... haciendo malabares y me toca, hoy o mañana, mandar un mensaje que, hasta estos días, es más probable que sea enviado por inet que en persona (a cada quien lo que merece)... jugando a la estrategia sin estrategia, la risa y la provocación en cándida inocencia de intención, no podré ser marcada como culpable si no encuentran pruebas para sustentarlo... y por lo visto, este fiscal es bastante estúpido, ya sea por que me subestima o por que se subestima a si mismo... dioses... hay gente que no aprende ni a golpes... pero de todos modos, en cierto grado... admito que me divierte&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV align="center"&gt;&lt;FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono"&gt;the game isn't over... yet&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-3548446031096234529?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/3548446031096234529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=3548446031096234529' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3548446031096234529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/3548446031096234529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_23.html' title='|\/| /\ |&amp;gt; $'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4239229103257543959</id><published>2006-05-23T17:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:20:18.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>0.0</title><content type='html'>tu nombre deslizándose entre mis dedos, extraña sensación... no debería importarme, acostumbrada estoy a ello... en este semi autismo en el que me sumo para ver cosas que no están aquí ahora, dejo que los habitantes de las calles y salones de mi memoria inunden la vereda, me rio con ellos y ellas... y esa memoria, que eres tu, ya no habla, distante... y prefiero mantenerlo así... no volar en ilusiones... no volar si vas a chocar con la realidad...&lt;br /&gt;aun asi... ahi está... vagas indirectas de tiempos pasados, se vierten en las miradas de reojo que suelo dirigir, pensamientos sin enojo de los errores que cometí y, aunque sin embargo aprendí, con un sabor vacío que tan sólo un salto me puede sacar de ese trance... ese estúpido trance... estúpido por qué? es jugarme a la tonta, a que desconozco que estoy haciendo, qué espero indirectamente... a pesar que, no tiene sustento en la realidad...&lt;br /&gt;así, pasan un par de minutos, las sonrisas no se dejan esperar... espasmos como aquellos que tuve en esos momentos, caras de extrañeza y tomando tiempos para encajar cual reloj cucú... después de pelearme con mi plano techo que me convence que estoy alucinando, un autogolpe me obliga a bajar... a bajar y saltar de donde esté y enfrentar el hecho que... sólo estaba soñando, sueños que una vez fueron realidad, hasta que tuvieron que terminar... hahahaha... por eso el Joker regresa, traeme sonrisas y alegrías en formas alternativas, por que aun hay cosas que no me tienen muy conforme en este tiempo, en este lugar...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4239229103257543959?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4239229103257543959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4239229103257543959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4239229103257543959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4239229103257543959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/00.html' title='0.0'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1256239455034857862</id><published>2006-05-22T23:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:19:41.292-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Frases/Quotes</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;"No es lo mismo que te caigan de frente que te caigan de costado"... recordando el momento de inercia.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"It's not the same to be taken on the front than on the side"... recalling the moment of inertia&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Puede que Dios juegue a los dados... pero tiene muy buena punteria"... paráfrasis sobre otra frase sobre el azar en el universo.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"God may play with dices... but has a good accuracy"... paraphrasing another quote about random in the universe.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Soy su hermano/a pero no se nada"... salida facilista escudándose en el hecho que familias como Ingalls son material de cuento de hadas.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"I'm their brother/sister but I know nothing"... easy way out hidding under the fact that families like the "Little Prairie's House" are fairy tales material.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Se que lo dejé aquí"... claro... si aquí fuera algún lugar que recordaras realmente, no el lugar donde buscas ahora.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"I know I left it here"... yeah... if "here" was some place you could really remember, not the place you're looking right now&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Yo te quiero, tu me quieres, hagamos que esta relacion funcione", aplicable en casos tanto con personas como artefactos con los que uno tiene que tratar, por ejemplo, tu computadora&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"I love you, you love me, let's make this thing workout", applicable with people and/or artifacts you have to deal with, for example, your computer&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Yo tenia fe... el/ella no", corolario en caso de que la frase anterior no haya surtido efecto&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"I had faith... he/she didn't", corollary in the event that the previous phrase have not supplied effect&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Y una de mis favoritas/One of my favorites&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Me saluda a su mamacita"... algunas de las últimas palabras de Sanchez Cerro para el Príncipe Jorge.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"My greetings to your mom"... some of Sanchez Cerro's last words to Prince George&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Para más referencias que reflejan la pintoresca idiosincrasia de este mágico-real-maravilloso país vayan a:&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;For more references which reflects the picturesque idiosyncrasy of this magical-real-wonderful country go to:&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;A href="http://www.arkivperu.com/frases.htm" target="_self"&gt;http://www.arkivperu.com/frases.htm&lt;/A&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1256239455034857862?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1256239455034857862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1256239455034857862' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1256239455034857862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1256239455034857862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/frasesquotes.html' title='Frases/Quotes'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5344128262720271232</id><published>2006-05-22T12:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:18:10.671-05:00</updated><title type='text'>-.-</title><content type='html'>blind.. it's almost 13:00 the day is bright but it's too short... time waits for nobody... gotta go&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5344128262720271232?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5344128262720271232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5344128262720271232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5344128262720271232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5344128262720271232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post.html' title='-.-'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8533582256697407243</id><published>2006-05-21T22:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:10:22.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Don't Know How... Living in Macondo's Improved Version</title><content type='html'>The debate was done 40 minutes ago... high hopes, same situation... chatting with the guy i used to date... hell... here's my advice to everyone... NEVER, EVER PROJECT ANYTHING JUST TRUSTING ONLY ON SOMEONE'S/SOMETHING'S POTENTIAL (everyone/everything has potential, so you could rely on anyone/anything)... if it's not what it needs to be when you need it, then don't rely on it more than it can hold (did i make myself clear?)... in the beginning and in the end, you're the main part of every project in your life, aren't you? so, keep going, if they/it has to come, it'll do when it has to, not after, not before...&lt;br /&gt;Anyway... what i don't know who reads all these ramblings, this is just me being struck by this feeling of "well, here's something that shouldn't be left to stray in my mind... it to has to be written" and since i've realised that i can type faster than i write... and well, i liked this thing on myspace and i'm taking advantage of this "blogging" thing since i think it's a way for you guys to know me a little bit more because i believe that you can learn a little more about people by the way they write and the themes they deal on their writtings... so, by now you, my dear reader, might have almost the same concept of me that my friends here have, "she's a loveable crazy" or "she's like a boy who looks and can think like a girl"... i don't know... either way, if you're on my list of friends it's because i liked you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8533582256697407243?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8533582256697407243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8533582256697407243' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8533582256697407243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8533582256697407243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/i-dont-know-how-living-in-macondos.html' title='I Don&apos;t Know How... Living in Macondo&apos;s Improved Version'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6325815080278852123</id><published>2006-05-21T19:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:08:55.200-05:00</updated><title type='text'>dream</title><content type='html'>aaaah... wicked silence...&lt;br /&gt;ooooh... insane remembrance...&lt;br /&gt;then i'll stay in the corner, you'll walk... i'll look the way you step away the room, you won't turn back... i'll jump from the window, i know you'll be somewhere else, i'll walk through the streets until i reach the woods and i get lost... with the stars above me i'll make a wish for each one i see, and i'll ask them, if they've seen you, i know you won't do the same, why would you do it? it's nonsense... well, it has some sense but i don't think you have the same idea as i do...&lt;br /&gt;i'll climb the trees, i'll sleep while the branches hold me from the ground, dreaming of things that have not been but might be...&lt;br /&gt;have you ever noticed how relative time can be? how long a single second can be when you're waiting for an answer? how short a whole day can be when you're having a great time? and then... you're dead... or it's over... is it really important to know what's happening after you die?... there are millions of people i'll never know but there's a few hundred i'll know... and from that group, i'll only remember even less&lt;br /&gt;today, right before i woke up, i had this crazy dream, i was running down the hill where the hotel is... and i knew it was a dream, while i told to myself y my dream "it feels so real, i'd like i'd be real, but i know that by now there's no snow, and there should be people around now, at least a couple cars, and there's no one, and i'm running like if i'd be able to run away from reality and with some kind of magic i'd be able to stay there, but it didn't happened, i was running, without shoes, but didn't felt cold... i ran trying to find a familiar face, but the same line was on my mind "you know it's a dream" and i knew it... and i woke up... but i felt much better than the last month... i guess i was some kind of relieving of these wacky days i'm living by now... hell, now that i recall... it's better than having a "little house on the prairie"-like day... run and laugh... the monkey is on its way&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6325815080278852123?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6325815080278852123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6325815080278852123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6325815080278852123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6325815080278852123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/dream.html' title='dream'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-8868070143715388191</id><published>2006-05-21T15:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:05:29.072-05:00</updated><title type='text'>cítome...</title><content type='html'>en flagrante usanza de arcaísmos, pecaré al citarme... al releer lo que una vez escribí para que surja otro tipeo de palabras con algún sentido...&lt;br /&gt;hoy cambién el nick a algo que suena como "En que me he convertido... mi más dulce amigo? aun recuerdas como era yo? por que yo no puedo... no puedo..." obvia influencia de "Hurt" en ello, eh? pero innegable será que si escribo estas líneas ahora es por los textos antes publicados...&lt;br /&gt;ahi voy&lt;br /&gt;perdiendo mis defensas pues descubri que de nada había que defenderse&lt;br /&gt;manteniendo la independencia de mi existencia sin olvidar que aun requiero de otras personas para subsistir&lt;br /&gt;miraré el reloj una vez mas (15:24) y haré lo que tengo que hacer... adios, por ahora... fácil escribiré más tarde... ahí te leo o te veo, lo que suceda 1ro ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-8868070143715388191?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/8868070143715388191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=8868070143715388191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8868070143715388191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/8868070143715388191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/citome.html' title='cítome...'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5481708827784751150</id><published>2006-05-21T15:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T22:12:42.817-05:00</updated><title type='text'>15:12</title><content type='html'>my stomach is full... i'm happy... things left to do for today... some people tries to keep some kind of conversation with meaningless lines... then... "de noche, tango y... los domingos... los lunes desolacion, hay de todo en la casita" aaaah... with a great scream waiting to go out... there i go, again...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5481708827784751150?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5481708827784751150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5481708827784751150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5481708827784751150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5481708827784751150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/1512.html' title='15:12'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-4386790366409162894</id><published>2006-05-21T12:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:57:08.490-05:00</updated><title type='text'>bury'em... then dig and look for them</title><content type='html'>In silence i walked through the park, the idea slipped between my thoughts (again)... only stared at me just like it is, just an idea which won't move nor speak unless I allow it to do... even so, I'd like to hear the answer... but it's like the answer forgotten in the silence, that loneliness without abandonment which leaves traces in the memory, filling its streets with signs of a return that no one should expect to be... (but some do)&lt;br /&gt;i won't lie... it's there, i know it's still there... i don't want to let it speak anymore... and it's there... it's there... i said i'd never leave that idea fall into oblivion... so i'm leaving that idea walk around.... it'll catch me without guard anytime... it'll hit me with a picture, with a fragrance, with a song, or maybe... just with the air, it'll laugh, i'll rise my head just to look at it waving good bye until the next time it assaults me... and i'll be wondering, how it could be, how... until it strikes again... and i'll hold it without touching it, wonder about it without longing it... and i'll keep doing my tasks...&lt;br /&gt;then i'll wake up again, cursing everything that takes through this part of my path in such illusionary order, and i'll dress up and get ready to fit again into this game i don't want to be part anymore, but i want to finish it, at last, i must finish it (it won't beat me, not again)&lt;br /&gt;i'll wonder the same in the morning while i watch the clock and substracting the numbers... time waits for nobody, if time is greater than us, why should i do what time doesn't? therefore, i shouldn't wait, therefore i don't... potential is not a reason to be with someone, it's an easy lesson i learned on the last year&lt;br /&gt;Even so... i'll walk, i'll send my assigments, i'll sit in front of the computer for hours until i'm done with all those things i must, i'll sing, i'll laugh, i'll play and i'll walk again... i'll stare at the sky while i'm going to school (or home) pretending that i'm not there but somewhere else, just to make this more bareable... then i'll do everything again... and again.. and again.. until everything is completed... nothing lasts forever, nor there's someone who can live forever... how it would be?... live with youth's vitality and ancient's wisdom? be able to do all those things everyone dreams and be able to do them all, and find new ones to keep on moving... forever young&lt;br /&gt;and i'll go to sleep again... i'll... i'm... i did... i just want to be done with all of this at once... and never ever have to see that place again for something related to studies.&lt;br /&gt;+++++++++++++++&lt;br /&gt;bury them... and dig to fing them again... stripped and dirty (but alive)... then go away and play... then ask them and don't expect any answer... just smile, fly but don't let your feet leave the ground... inhale, exhale... open your eyes and realise... it's just a dream...&lt;br /&gt;looking through the window, a sunny sky over the city today... don't spend your time wondering how long will it last, just enjoy...&lt;br /&gt;lone walker... i've got to travel with light loads, just myself&lt;br /&gt;"a veces cuando el sol se va... comprendo que, nunca tuve nada que y probablemente nunca lo tendre /.../ llevame aire del camino, hasta donde nadie me pueda encontrar, llevame aire tibio y azul y abandoname, con algo de tu luz /.../ a veces cuando asoma el sol, llenando de diamantes la quietud del mar, me doy cuenta de que siempre fue asi, siempre estuve sola y siempre lo estare... cuantas veces soniando despierta, creo verte en la multitud..." EN ALGUN LUGAR ALGUIEN YA ESCRIBIO QUE ESTE MUNDO NO ES NADA MAS QUE UNA PIEDRA REDONDA (then, kick it!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-4386790366409162894?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/4386790366409162894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=4386790366409162894' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4386790366409162894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/4386790366409162894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/buryem-then-dig-and-look-for-them.html' title='bury&apos;em... then dig and look for them'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-449237574349224622</id><published>2006-05-19T23:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:55:23.574-05:00</updated><title type='text'>2nd break</title><content type='html'>without time to think about something else... that idea always finds the way to slip between geometrical, structural and squizoid tasks in my mind... it slips and stares at all this circus I proudly manage in my mind to develop this assigment that have consumed my time these days... it stares... like a child who visits their parents at their job... will they laugh? will they understand? will they even think about the person who's doing that job or will they be too excited or bored for that?... i don't know... it just happens, in my mind... i don't want to look at that idea... i don't have to get distracted, even when sometimes i play, though... and music helps a lot to keep that idea there... whatever... i'm on my way&lt;br /&gt;Sun Wukong! Loki! Puck!&lt;br /&gt;Grant me your Skills!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;(much better :D)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-449237574349224622?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/449237574349224622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=449237574349224622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/449237574349224622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/449237574349224622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/2nd-break.html' title='2nd break'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6771652892557029755</id><published>2006-05-18T14:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:30:04.805-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Break</title><content type='html'>Listening NIN's Hurt... on the other window, a friend's answers... one the other window... people online...&lt;br /&gt;there's the point i should stay for a while&lt;br /&gt;now it's gone&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6771652892557029755?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6771652892557029755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6771652892557029755' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6771652892557029755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6771652892557029755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/break.html' title='Break'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1178979638097855770</id><published>2006-05-15T23:07:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:34:10.044-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Auditorium 20%</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://x.myspacecdn.com/images/blog/moods/iBrads/artistic.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 15px; height: 15px;" src="http://x.myspacecdn.com/images/blog/moods/iBrads/artistic.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Current mood:  creative &lt;br /&gt;hell, it must be done, i'm getting it done before thursday.... hell i will... and i'm gonna laugh at the end of it, 'cos it'll be the begining!... oh boy... i'll be part of the computer by the end of it... it won't be the first time though&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1178979638097855770?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1178979638097855770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1178979638097855770' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1178979638097855770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1178979638097855770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/auditorium-20.html' title='Auditorium 20%'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-5042848783220898962</id><published>2006-05-11T23:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:27:23.286-05:00</updated><title type='text'>one day in, the next day out</title><content type='html'>red hands, that's what i'm looking at... with my eyes loaded with tears and the biggest grin i've ever had... i touch my face and recognize that smell, that  sweet smell mixed with salt... now i have to jump and run, no one has to find me when i'm back, will i remember your fingers touching my hair? barely, who knows, now i've gotta run...&lt;br /&gt;looks like everyone knows what i've done, i try to do not look at their eyes but i can't help feeling their gaze upon me, are they blaming me for something? are they ignoring me as usual? i don't care, i've gotta get out of here&lt;br /&gt;once i'm far away from there i'll find that river we used to talk about... my tears and your blood will disolve into the water, together in some way, forever with all the beauty and dirt of this place... how did it happened? i recall, we were laughing, you looked so glad, oh my, i could never ever forget your expression, suddenly, it strikes, a single second, your heart stops, your lunges collapses, your eyes wide open begging for another minute to let your lips set free just those last words... those words you never had the time to tell me... and you'll never have... spitting blood, your legs crumble down, the air comes out of your mouth, i held you, i held you... against my chest, kissed your forehead and, we knew you didn't have more time, it sucks but at least, we saw it coming for a while...&lt;br /&gt;i leave your body lying on the floor, then i pick it up and leave it on that place that was ours once... i turn off the music, i open the window, you always like the sun on your face, that's the least thing i can do for you... i turn everything off, then i set everything on fire... and it burns... burns... all the records of what we once had... those memories will be carefully kept in my mind... and nobody else will ever know what really was that thing that happened between us... why should they care? most of them only had their mouth to gossip with every action everyone else had, they should get a life for themselves and stop that stupid hobby... anyway... i can't help smiling while i remember you... even when everything is burning in front of my eyes... then i look at my hands, red hands, i barely can see due to my tears, then i realise i'm smiling... and i recognise... hey! we really had a great time together!... and it's over... i've gotta go... gotta go... for today... until we meet again!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-5042848783220898962?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/5042848783220898962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=5042848783220898962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5042848783220898962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/5042848783220898962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/one-day-in-next-day-out.html' title='one day in, the next day out'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-9046050698708403009</id><published>2006-05-11T12:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:28:01.516-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Those Things No One Can Take Away From Me</title><content type='html'>Myself, My Word...&lt;br /&gt;And hell, those little moments we shared... when I picked you up when you fell on the icy pavement, laughing at the guy who didn't know how to use the appartment's key, the way you startled me by showing up after you said you wouldn't come, those advices you gave me to look better, those conversations we had while were going to the bar, all the support you gave me all the time, playing pool, and dancing and having a great time at the bar... hell... no one could ever take those things away from me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-9046050698708403009?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/9046050698708403009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=9046050698708403009' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9046050698708403009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/9046050698708403009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/those-things-no-one-can-take-away-from.html' title='Those Things No One Can Take Away From Me'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-6081532123890274209</id><published>2006-05-10T21:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:44:27.567-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tales</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;from THE BOOK OF STORYIES&lt;BR/&gt;=========================&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;[]s indicate apocryphal inserts or unreliable translations.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;CHAPTER 3&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;1 And it came to pass that in 1958 in Rio de Janeiro a cargo ship&lt;BR/&gt;  docked in the night.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;2 And it was in the cargo hold that a steamer trunk lay.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;3 And it did open and disgorge three Malkavians, as Groucho's trunk&lt;BR/&gt;  did in "A Night at the Opera."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;4 [And so they will be called Chico, Harpo and Alan] &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;5 And Chico did tell a dockworker to come with them, as they were&lt;BR/&gt;  hungry.  [And the dockworker, he did come.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;6 And Harpo did steal some bicycles from the street.  [And yea, the&lt;BR/&gt;  bicycles did have large bells on the handlebars.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;7 And Alan did toss a grenade into the engine of the cargo ship.  [And&lt;BR/&gt;  there were many divers alarums.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;8 And they did ride the streets of Rio like the parking attendants from&lt;BR/&gt;  "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."  [Excepting that they had more bells and&lt;BR/&gt;  very little John Williams music.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;9 And yea, they did stop at a nightclub.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;10 And yea, the prince of Rio did summon them with many thugs who looked&lt;BR/&gt;   like Jimmy Cagney.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;11 And they did visit the prince, who looked like the Mexican guy in&lt;BR/&gt;   "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid."  [And the prince did not wear plaid. Amen.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;12 And the prince did say: "What brings you loonies to my city?"&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;13 And Alan did say: "Where are my pajamas?"&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;14 And Chico did say: "A race."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;15 And Harpo did say: "A bicycle ding ding!"&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;16 And the prince did say "A race?" [For the prince was old and wily and&lt;BR/&gt;   knew that Alan was wearing his pajamas and that bicycles cannot cross&lt;BR/&gt;   the ocean.  Listen well to the wisdom of the other clans.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;17 And Chico did tell the story of the Great Race &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;18 "&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;In 1814 we took a little trip&lt;BR/&gt;The Colonel told us London was the place to be &lt;BR/&gt;So long city life&lt;BR/&gt;London was fun&lt;BR/&gt;But we were there for a reason&lt;BR/&gt;The reason for the season&lt;BR/&gt;Was a race&lt;BR/&gt;The Great Race&lt;BR/&gt;Organized by a Tortillador   &lt;BR/&gt;There was a Race&lt;BR/&gt;With a Great Prize&lt;BR/&gt;A large Herd&lt;BR/&gt;A small Princedom&lt;BR/&gt;But most importantly&lt;BR/&gt;A cubic zirconium necklace worth well over five dollars.&lt;BR/&gt;The race was a trip around the world&lt;BR/&gt;And three from each clan were chosen&lt;BR/&gt;From the Tremulous, Larry, Moe and Curly&lt;BR/&gt;From the Ventricle, Hitler, Hirohito and Mussolini&lt;BR/&gt;From the Gangbangrel, Kerouac, Burroughs and Ginsberg&lt;BR/&gt;From the Brujahaha, ABC, CBS and NBC&lt;BR/&gt;From the Notforyoutojudge, the Father, the Sun and the Holy Simolean &lt;BR/&gt;And from the Tortilliador, Pancho, Cisco and the Lone Ranger&lt;BR/&gt;And we, we were sent from the Malfabrications."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;19 The prince did shake his head and did say "This was in 1814?"&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;20 "Aye," Chico did say.  "Aye think therefore the ayes have it."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;21 The prince did say "But is not the race over, then?" [For the&lt;BR/&gt;   prince was {UNTRANSLATABLE}]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;22 And Harpo said "Jesus, look at the time!"&lt;BR/&gt;23 And Chico said "Jesus isn't here." &lt;BR/&gt;24 And Alan said "You're right."&lt;BR/&gt;25 And Chico said "We gotta find him."&lt;BR/&gt;26 And Harpo said "He isn't here."&lt;BR/&gt;27 And Alan said "We can't be here right now."&lt;BR/&gt;28 And Chico said "Bye."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;29 And they did cross the Andes by frog.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;CHAPTER 4&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;1 And it came to pass that in Beijing in 1968 a plane landed at night.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;2 And three Malkavians got off the plane, like Bergman in "Casablanca"&lt;BR/&gt;  running backwards.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;3 [And so we will call them Bogart, Usual Suspect and Namgreb.]&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;4 And Usual Suspect hailed a rickshaw and told the rickshaw driver to leave.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;5 And the rickshaw driver left.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;6 And Usual Suspect pulled the rickshaw with Bogart and Namgreb into the&lt;BR/&gt;  city.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;7 And in the same city was Curly the Tremere, who had hunted high and low&lt;BR/&gt;  for the losers of the Race.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;8 And Curly stood before them and Curly shook her head and said "You have&lt;BR/&gt;  lost."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;9 And Bogart said "Nice to see you too, Curly."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;10 And Curly said "My name is Vivian."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;11 And Usual Suspect said "Okay, Vivian.  See you at the finish line."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;12 And Curly said "There is no finish line.  The race has been over for&lt;BR/&gt;   150 years."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;13 And Namgreb said "If there is no finish line, how can we be finished?"&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;14 And Curly said "You have lost.  You can stop running."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;15 And Bogart said "We may have lost, but you _are_ lost."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;16 And Usual Suspect said "Do you know where you're going?"&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;17 And Namgreb said "Because we sure as hell do."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;18 And Curly stamped her foot and said "But the race is over."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;19 And Bogart said "But not the running of the race."&lt;BR/&gt;20 And Namgreb said "Running."&lt;BR/&gt;21 And Usual Suspect said "Run!" &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;22 And Curly ran.  And Usual Suspect ran, dragging Bogart and Namgreb&lt;BR/&gt;   behind him/her/it.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;COMMENTARY:&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Think on this:&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Travel Time (London to London, 1814)&lt;BR/&gt;Tremere: 114 days&lt;BR/&gt;  Ventrue: 117 days&lt;BR/&gt;Gangrel; 120 days&lt;BR/&gt;Nosferatu: 125 days&lt;BR/&gt;Toreador: 127 days&lt;BR/&gt;Brujah: 136 days&lt;BR/&gt;---------&lt;BR/&gt;And somewhere in the world&lt;BR/&gt;Three people run  &lt;BR/&gt;And fly&lt;BR/&gt;And ride&lt;BR/&gt;And float&lt;BR/&gt;And sail&lt;BR/&gt;And drive&lt;BR/&gt;A meandering path across a planet&lt;BR/&gt;They are nearly 200 years late&lt;BR/&gt;They can no longer finish&lt;BR/&gt;Because there is no finish line&lt;BR/&gt;But they have direction&lt;BR/&gt;They have each other&lt;BR/&gt;And they have a horizon that smiles a broad curved smile on their drunken&lt;BR/&gt;path &lt;BR/&gt;Who has won the race?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;--------------------&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;(Chris Fieldhouse)&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;An untidy room with a double bed.&lt;BR/&gt;A mound of blankets is the only sign that there is anyone asleep here.&lt;BR/&gt;The mound stirs as the hibinating occupant begins the slow and painful path back to consciousness.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;From the mound of blankets the first scout, a teddy bear, is thrust out to see what the evening is like. When he fails to report, a mutilated rabbit is thrown out to find out why the first scout failed to report in.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Silence.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The third scout, a pale hand, wanders out and blindly probes the surrounding area for clues. Eventually it comes open the clock and begins the difficult task of retrieving it back to the warm lair.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Silence.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Suddenly the blankets erupt as Chriss sits bolt upright to study the clock. 1:30. He's late, he's almost slept the night half away. Slowly and painfully he staggers out of bed and curses that drunk he had yesterday.&lt;BR/&gt;He reaches the bedroom curtains, pulls them open, Screams, and thanks god that he had the sense to rent a place with a north facing window........&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Bright light, bright light" he screams as daylight streams into the room.&lt;BR/&gt;Well, the old cliche's work for everyone else, so why not for him?&lt;BR/&gt;He steps back away from the window .&lt;BR/&gt;He stares down at the cold, stodgy mass of a half eaten pizza and sighs.&lt;BR/&gt;Slowly, carefully, he sits down on the bed and begins picking the olives and cheese out from between his toes while staring out of the window into the snow filled courtyard below.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Down below are a group of children, probably about 10 years old, building a snowman and having a snow-ball fight. Chriss watches them as they laugh, screams and play. Slowly he finds himself sliding into a depression.....&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"I I I If only I hadn't been made a vampire." He mutters to no-one, but himself. &lt;BR/&gt;"I would only be a few years older then I am now, b b b but I could go outside and have fun and play their games."&lt;BR/&gt;A tear of blood begins to trickle down his cheek.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"No, t t t that would be a foolish idea, I must be mad to think about it.&lt;BR/&gt;"But they call me mad anyway.&lt;BR/&gt;"Thats b b b besides the point! &lt;BR/&gt;"Is it? Why? Why do they call me mad? Answer that!&lt;BR/&gt;"No! S S S Stop it! This is a futile argument and I won't do it!&lt;BR/&gt;"Fair enough, but think on what I said.....&lt;BR/&gt;Chriss pauses in his unusual one sided argument.&lt;BR/&gt;"Why do t t t they call me mad....."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The accusation of 'madness' always hurts him,&lt;BR/&gt;He does not concider himself insane, that is a word used by people who do not  wish to be responcible for their actions, or a term used by others to explain the horrors commited by a 'rational' mind (such aas Hitler).&lt;BR/&gt;He does not concider himself insane, instead he is above the simple, trivial&lt;BR/&gt;definitions imposed by the closed minded.&lt;BR/&gt;He considers himself to be in the elite of the 'super-sane'!&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;"Why do they call m m m me mad....."&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;He ponders the question as he sits down at the computer and begins typing...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;BR/&gt;Why do they call me mad?&lt;BR/&gt;Its a simple question I guess.&lt;BR/&gt;But I don't have an answer.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;But why do THEY call ME mad?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;As I walk through the Elysium, a dark and dreary place, they shun and avoid me, but I have never done anything to them. I only wish to join in, but they tell me to go away and they take my spray cans from me and shout at me for using roller skates on the polished wooden floors.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Why should I be ashamed of being called a Malkavian, &lt;BR/&gt;why should I be shunned and prejudiced against for being in the clan, &lt;BR/&gt;why shouldn't I feel proud of being a Malkavian,&lt;BR/&gt;Do I not have a heritage as noble and distinguised as the best of you?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Hey Mr Ventrue sir, In your Armani suit.&lt;BR/&gt;What do you intend to do for the rest of eternity?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;He smiles at me, but his prides makes him boost of his dreams of the financial empire that he is building up, of the political organizations that he is slowly taking control off and of the people in high places who are his pawns. But I have some money in a bank, isn't that good enough? &lt;BR/&gt;He smiles and laugh, foolish child, that is a drop compared to the fortunes he has.&lt;BR/&gt;But I have all I need don't I? Why gather more money than you can spend?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The Ventrue tells me I don't understand money.&lt;BR/&gt;But they are wrong, I have all I need, I do not drive others to poverty nor do I wish to control their lives through it.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;So why do they call me mad?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;What will the Ventrue do when they own all that there is to own?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The Nosferatu tell me that knowledge is power and that knowledge is the key to all things and that I know nothing.&lt;BR/&gt;But they are wrong, for I know enough to survive and I know what I want to know (I know I don't want to live in sewers, and to change my underwear once a month whether I need to or not).&lt;BR/&gt;Why spend eternity collecting knowledge which can never be used.?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;So why do they call me mad?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;What will the Nosferatu do when they know all that is knowable?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The Tremere plot and scheme and work their plans within plans within plans...&lt;BR/&gt;They tell me their strength is in their unity, that each is a part of the whole, that to harm one is to harm them all (Sounds a bit like the 'Borg' to me, "Freedom is Irrelevant, Death is Irrelevant, You will be assimulated!").&lt;BR/&gt;But I am an individual, free to decide what to do, answerable to no one, but myself (&amp;amp; Mr Bunny). I have no-one above me to give me orders, no-one below me to want my advice and guidance. No one controls me, and I control no-one.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;So why do they call me mad?&lt;BR/&gt;What will the Tremere do when their plans are completed and they control all? &lt;BR/&gt;What will drive them then?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The Brujah tell me I must break the chains of my oppression, but I am not oppressed. They tell me that I do not see my oppressors.&lt;BR/&gt;But of course they are wrong, I have my freedom and liberty. I am not bound into anyones ideas and schemes except my own. I am my own master.&lt;BR/&gt;Why should I break free from something that doesn't exist for me?&lt;BR/&gt;Your scholars will debate the needs of the revolution, but not enact it.&lt;BR/&gt;Your thugs will lash out and destroy everything, but they do not move towards a new order or towards freedom, nor do they have dreams about how things should be.&lt;BR/&gt;I tell them that they are bound by chains of their own making, for they only know how to oppose everyone else. They exist to be oppressed.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;So why do they call me mad?&lt;BR/&gt;When will the Brujah revolution and fight for freedom BEGIN?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The Toreadors tell me I don't understand beauty.&lt;BR/&gt;But they are wrong, on a cold winter night, I take the train up the mountain that overlooks Oslo, and there at the top, surrounded by snow, I look at the lights of the city below and at the inky blackness beyond that is the fjord. I look up into the night sky and I see the beauty of the stars. The other night, I looked at the thin crescent of the moon and at the bright point of light that was Venus close by.&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Is that not Beauty? The beauty of nature. &lt;BR/&gt;A beauty, no one can create or truly describe.&lt;BR/&gt;So why do they call me mad?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;There are only so many poems a person can write, &lt;BR/&gt;so what will the toreadors do when they can write no more?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;The gangrels tell me I don't understand freedom and what it is to run wild.&lt;BR/&gt;But they are wrong (surprise, surprise).&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;In the summer, the days are long and the night short (it is merely a twilight that last for a few hours).&lt;BR/&gt;In summer before sunset, I climb that mountain (carefully!) and once the sun has gone down, I fly my kite in the warm summer breeze of the twilight.&lt;BR/&gt;My kite flies as high as a bird and my mind saws with it, high into the heavens, free as a bird (or bat). &lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Is that not freedom, to enjoy the simply things that give me pleasure?&lt;BR/&gt;So why do they call me mad?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;So what will the Gangrels do once all the forests and open spaces have gone, where will they run free then?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;So why do they all call ME mad?&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Am I mad?&lt;BR/&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-6081532123890274209?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/6081532123890274209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=6081532123890274209' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6081532123890274209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/6081532123890274209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2010/01/tales.html' title='Tales'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-7610989513572862413</id><published>2006-05-09T13:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:24:37.460-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sticked</title><content type='html'>&lt;DIV&gt;En los ultimos minutos del silencio que aun nos queda, suspiro mientras los ojos cierro tratando de recordar un rostro del cual no queda prueba...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;En los segundos que faltan antes de abrir mis ojos y mirar la pared de reojo antes de saltarla para echarme a volar, como esos dias que solia vagar y sentarme en el puente para ver los autos pasar trazando rios brillantes bajo mis pies... bajo mis pies mientras el sol lanzaba los ultimos saludos del día...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Asi llega la noche, mis ojos abro, no hay paredes, no hay obstáculos que saltar mas que aquellos ya conocidos, con la misma gente que dejé un tiempo atras... ya queda poco... inane agonía de la rutina eterna, hasta que perdemos la sensacion de lo que es el tiempo mismo... envejecemos y.... decimos salud al ver a la parca venir... a decir hola...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;(haciendo pajaros de barro, echandolos a volar, sabiendo que se estrellarán irremediablemente repartiendo sus pedazos alrededor que se disolverán en el agua, el viento se llevará lo demás... como un transeúnte solitario en esas calles innombrables de la memoria que ahora ya ocupas... pajaros al viento, que no podrán volar... no tomaré la ruta hacia tu casa, tampoco cantaré esas tonadas que solíamos disfrutar... me volveré a perder en mis caminos, algunos aun no conozco, eso no importa, prefiero no pasar por zonas conocidas, me aburre lo predecible... y entonces me dare cuenta que las diferencias podrán invitarme a extrañarte, los ruiseñores de mañana, las peleas de nieve al lado del bar, las carreras de piques y todo lo demás... que francamente, sé que puedo vivir sin ellos)&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Ahora, humedad que penetra en mis fosas nasales, atosigándome con aromas desconocidos, placenteros y anodinos, comunes al día a día que solemos consumir sin miramientos.. que al final del camino, ya olvidamos, o queremos prescindir...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Entonces.. será entonces tal vez que nos encontremos... frágilmente fértil imaginación que al más mínimo asomo de juego, vuela trazando un universo que siempre empieza con tu sonrisa, tus palabras y se consolida con tu adios en promesa de un encuentro en algún momento... tal vez actual... si alguna vez me preguntan... maldicion si pues diré... siempre estuviste en mi mente... no te pediré que me preguntes si hubo algo real, tampoco me molestaré en preguntarte, pasado en eso radica, y amen que hermoso fue... fue...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;Dime, cuantas veces has detenido tu día para preguntarte lo mismo? ocupo algún lugar en tu memoria, esa que con dedicación cuidas nunca olvidar? no lo se... y realmente... no me importa... viví antes, vivo después, con o sin la anuencia de la gente, sigo en esto que elijo como mi vida, con mis aciertos y tonterías... sigo adelante... pero de cuando en cuando vago en mi mente sobre esa posibilidad que en algún lugar, hay alguien, como será? hahahaha, esa loca ilusión, pero hay más cosas por las cuales vivir en esta existencia... aaaaaah... tantas cosas cada una más excitante que la anterior... pero sé que si nos encontramos con esa persona... hahahaha... pensaré dos veces antes de lanzarme a seguir trotando, no, mejor aun, sería genial seguir trotando con esa persona! y disfrutar cada instante, cada quien en su ruta pero sabiendo que estaremos uno para el otro... arregla el sol, dando más luz a la vida... no, dando una fuente más de luz, distinta, deliciosa que sazona con precisión cada momento... so long!&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;talk show... demons, that song is awesome...&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;never leave without saying or doing all those things you felt, especially if it's about someone... this guy had a friend, a girl he used to hang out a lot, something happened between them and well, he felt that if he said to "be" with her that great friendship would end... she didn't felt like that... he didn't know what to do... they got in separated ways... it sucks when friendships break like that... after a while he started to date with her best friend... but it didn't work... up and downs in life got them separated... "life's like a horse, a wild horse which you have to tame, it might drop you down once, and twice and... well.. there's a moment when it can't drop you down anymore (or at least it doesn't hurt that much)"... after a while... when he got better and put a little bit order in his life, he picked up the phone and called that girl he talked about in the begining... and then he knew she died... once again, he felt lost in the present, he never had the chance to say good bye or something... strayed with all those things he wanted to say and he'll never get the chance to tell her... words that will stay stucked between your throat and your mouth in that silence, that freaking silence in which, you know what to say... but no one there's to tell... that useless knot which saves no one, for that person isn't there anymore (usually death is like that)... and it sucks... so this guy ends this song with this little advice:&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;DIV&gt;&lt;FONT size="7" face="Courier New, Courier, mono"&gt;&lt;B&gt;close your love stories, finish your books... don´t let death or time take the pen of your hand and write the end of those you really care about...&lt;/B&gt;&lt;/FONT&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-7610989513572862413?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/7610989513572862413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=7610989513572862413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7610989513572862413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/7610989513572862413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/sticked.html' title='sticked'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-1200897428601069693</id><published>2006-05-08T23:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:19:18.290-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pateandome la cabeza</title><content type='html'>Bucolica remembranza, con mi cabeza queriendo escribir en ingles, pero que diablos mas da... debo ejercitar mi léxico castizo antes que olvide lo básico de una conversación en mi lengua materna...&lt;br /&gt;En fin... si, bucólica remembranza de aquellos días en que solía subir y bajar el barranco cerca a mi casa, jugar con los venados y bajar al colegio sin faltar cada día... un perro (que en esos días me parecía inmenso) irrumpía en el camino mientras regresábamos con mi hermano, increiblemente escandaloso nos ladraba como si fuera dueño de la escalera... nosotros sólo resolvíamos por quedarnos quietecitos, quietecitos, hasta que la señora (ama del can) lo llamaba mientras nos decía que no nos asustemos que no nos iba a morder (claro pues, ella fácilmente nos doblaba la estatura, como no la va asustar), ahora creo que asustarnos era el chiste de ese perro todos los días que tenía cla oportunidad de hacerlo...&lt;br /&gt;Sin embargo esos días estuvieron siempre llenos de alegrías y sorpresas, algo que supongo común para cualquier infante, pero no se... aun me da la sensación que me equivoqué de escena y en un momento no se cómo todos llegaron acá y yo con un libreto que a veces no corresponde con las circunstancias... una loquita querible dicen algunos... otros, no sé, no me lo han comentado... ah si, ese es el motivo por el cual "patearme la cabeza"... estos últimos dias me siento mas perdida que cuy en torneo de waterpolo... tal vez si llego a hacer lo que el título dice pueda reordenar las cosas o por lo menos dar un toque mas curioso para despertar mi actividad fisica que francamente... últimamente esta para llorar&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-1200897428601069693?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/1200897428601069693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=1200897428601069693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1200897428601069693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/1200897428601069693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/pateandome-la-cabeza.html' title='Pateandome la cabeza'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34023892.post-2737209424210728877</id><published>2006-05-07T21:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T21:16:47.761-05:00</updated><title type='text'>midterms...</title><content type='html'>feeling like i've been swimming 100 meters until now... knowing that there are 300 left... i know i can make it... i know.. but, in every breath i take to keep my race, i remember what was being walking, jumping, climbing... and i know that i must finish this race... i must hold on 300 (and  something) meters more...&lt;br /&gt;a night at a club, feels so odd, hell, i did have fun, for godsake i did (and my feet reminded me all this day) but, it's like... there's something missing in the whole scene... it's not the people, it's not the music, it's what i was used to do... being there just on my own, but i have to be done with this race before i do it again...&lt;br /&gt;y diablos... sigo con este estupido cruce idiomatico, y por un demonio... acepto que tengo la maldita mania de maldecir con mucha frecuencia (enfasis le llaman)... toy cansada... toy aburrida... toy con gran gana de volar el edificio de la universidad a ver si eso hace reaccionar al condenado rector que tenemos... no puedo creer que las cosas sigan igual... es desalentador... pero que demonios... solo debo seguir... debo seguir&lt;br /&gt;aaaah... y el fantasma ataca de vez en cuando... pero ya solo se sienta a conversar y nada mas... aaaah... me llegan mis horarios, son una basura... me llega ese tipo que se encargo de enredarlos mas este semestre, es un inutil completo... pero que diablos, la collera pesa mas....&lt;br /&gt;aaaaaargggg.... ahora... a armar el resumen que maniana solo requiero de procedimientos y criterio para salvar esta nota y estar mas tranquila... say hi once i a while...&lt;br /&gt;ahi te veo o te leo, lo que suceda 1ro&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34023892-2737209424210728877?l=7iv3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/feeds/2737209424210728877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34023892&amp;postID=2737209424210728877' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2737209424210728877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34023892/posts/default/2737209424210728877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://7iv3.blogspot.com/2006/05/midterms.html' title='midterms...'/><author><name>Greta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01673206225695025664</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='21' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_B22vQPBERfk/R64IG5gbUSI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T5I61bnJZ4w/S220/ojo.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
