Pale Skin And Bloated

I'll keep this blog updated, switch to elguillemola.org

Well, that ... is already working (and it would seem) I created the blog in your own domain: http://www.elguillemola.org/ (also in http://www.elguillemola.com/ , but you redirected to point ORG), and as all my domains are hosted on DomiTienda .

So ... if you want to find out what really "cool" stop by the Guille mola (the blog of Guille) . You
hopelessness! See

. Guillermo

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It's official: www.elguillemola.org, the address of the new blog of Guille

For that, thanks to Victor Businet / Domitienda already configured the new site elGuille new blog, and address is: www.elguillemola.org .

What will this blog content? Well, it's easy, the content that a blog "should" have , ie things that the author would feel like to have (in this case the author will be myself, but I will keep talking in third person so applies to others) , which is something personal you want to share with the reader, as it has, which is somewhat technical (there will also be technical things), it also has ... he does not want to say anything, because it does have anything, but rest assured that in my case (I now speak in first person, because I'm talking about myself), it does tell you things ...

What do you do now?

Let's see, what you should do is tell people you know that Guillermo has a new blog, this time will be the "redefinitivo" and also this blog "really cool", so called the mola Guille, because it is Guille Guille and the cool, hehehehe, so ... if you have a blog, or Web site or a simple Web page, or write in any forums or on Facebook or Twitter or Tuenti or any of the thousands of millions of social networks that roam there ... Count it! not that count of 1, 2, 3 ... no, but tell that guille has a blog and the blog address is guille: http://www.elguillemola.org/ OK? for that ... thanks in advance ... See

. Guillermo




(originally published in elguillemola.org )

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Why put another blog posts?

Well ... liao because I'm the leg of a Roman ...

The thing is I've created a blog on my site, but instead of elguille.info, I had to do in mundoprogramacion.com (does not come to mind to explain why, because if not, you will notice how clumsy I am and have to keep up appearances jejej-joke-is that if it was going to be many throughout this y. .. for that ...) and now I'm posting here, but since I do not know if later be defiitivamente database with written things or not ... well ... the'm repeating here ... and save images, instead of putting the link, I am pasting the HTML text of the original post ... ie from October 6th today (actually yesterday, that it's almost 2 am on day 7) I am posting "originally" MundoProgramacion.com's blog (unless I write this and the public first Blogger) and as I cleared, the I'm "saying" here, because this blog is that I have linked to my Facebook page, and thus, there are posts on the page that the "caralibro" my friend would say pallel, which, incidentally, is experiencing these changes and "trouble" I'm doing with blogs, lol ... ay Zeno, who must have patience with Guille ... anyway ...

's it ... Okay?
Well, that ... another day I'll tell you more things about "why" of this blog (or appropriate) See

. Guillermo

(originally posted elguillemola.blogspot.com and surely will adapt / repeat on the blog of Guille )

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The raids on Tuesday, October 6

Today has not been Antonio, but has called saying he was chunguillo and therefore did not come yesterday .

Today we behaved very well, although in the first round took 19 minutes, but you debase the second 17 minutes with the thing in the first half it took me just over 7 minutes and Mari angels took 8 minutes, however, in the back took almost 10 minutes. Although I must say, this stretch in which it took 7 minutes we were not talking and I forced the pace a bit ... and that is, when we start to crack, well ... what happens happens, that we will force the mouth , lol.

Today we have also given a third round, and also along the shore, but we got near the end of Playazo, practically at the mouth of the river, from there we went back (also running) until a little after the first picnic area (as going from the river Chillar), practically in front of a of the stalls there, where we stopped for a swim, that although the water was not as warm as yesterday, was very good and the body welcomed the bathroom ... but He is haunted by a little with the time I was swimming.

And as expected, was that dawn came, and to sample this photo:



And tomorrow, more ... hope that Antonio will not play truant again. See

. Guillermo

can see the original in my blog provisonal:
http://www.mundoprogramacion.com/blog/index.php/2009/10/las-correras-del-martes-6-de- October /

My Calfs Hurt When I Ski

further evidence ... if ...

Well, that ... to see if it's the images I fix it ... (for viewing on Facebook, that any viewer using RSS / ATOM can see the images without problems), it is almost a matter of ... So ... yeah ... well, no, not so much as honor, but of "stubbornness" ;-)))

Here's a picture:

See

. Guillermo

(posted with Windows Live Writer elguillemola.blogspot.com)

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Vigil

I am half the time requested. I felt as modulated through my words, my body and my spirit. I felt the stigma of not belong to the space we inhabit and I failed in my attempt to fly. Is it necessary to exercise my wings?
I dreamed a spider in its web swayed, I fell in love with his race and his play. I was part of his hair, cravings and I lost in eternity dissolute. The spider was caught in the decline of his time and is about to be slain. Can not remember who it was and whether she was a lineage that perpetrate its kind.
is simpler to talk about a spider that of humans. It would be even easier to plan Length avoiding hills and skyscrapers. An eleven year old girl took her wings, sailed through windows, walls and ceilings dirty to land between the pavement and the road. His eyes closed the stage of a lost dream somewhere that nobody could decipher. The question of time to search for wind insurance. No Jane Doe is now located on the perimeter of the meaning of the research group. "Jane, you've found the perfect distance to fly and feel the wind? His smile was captured in tears and dirt, just a name: Jane Doe. A label giving all the Janes lost without knowledge of being.
Just a minute of acclaim and Jane Doe with unflinching eyes at the universe, wondering who is Jane Doe? And a sea of \u200b\u200bbirds tearing impunity saying "Never again" after the manner of Poe's raven. Jane stuck between the cliffs waiting for a response that never came. Jane alone on the sidewalk hugging smiling with my bay for all. When I went near her, I felt myself penetrated with tears that look dirty and almost for a moment I thought I saw a slight movement . Jane is buried next to their name and fables to designate strains birth. Now my dream turned into a spider and I called Jane. Finished weaving their time and yours Jane never started. Jane Tell me is it possible to weave back skyscraper? I'm sure you'll come back flying and rain will spark your name lost among the cry of black birds.

In memory of all the Jane Doe.

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underground /

Here are two entries]

underground Notes

all our demons are written in ink, without seeking color must have been recorded in our existence. In order to bring our thoughts. Look

bodies through the window created by the minds of others. Could be imaginary and seal the source of any memory or sink into nothing in vain. The empty lane 2 in the morning, makes me feel a strange wonder and solitude. It's late and almost no one on the train. The rats come and go between the rails, leave me thinking they are so tiny and want to be free. Might confuse between these thoughts. The anonymity of the bodies in this subterranean paradise. Guard my soul away and I became a single body with no past and no memory.

could say I'm going through a rebuilding phase creative and personal. Decision is a very different time (I imagine many of you). I look around the walls closes a cycle, a time of change. To make way for the lines, which prompter between my fingers, reading a book by Kundera. They get a lot of thoughts in my mind.
I can remember I was in a presentation, rather participated in it. I heard different opinions on my creative work. It might feel good, however, my search is relentless and goes beyond words. I will quote the old Milan Kundera "... to write books, the man turns into the universe and the essential property of the universe is precisely that of being unique. The existence of another universe threatens so in its own essence. "

recognition not only is the search time in a universe of words. That goes beyond celebration and reconciliation with otherness crude. You stay as looking inside yourself and persistent questions where is the passion? Writing is not only word is more than one syllable is a universe. The tuning of a circumstance made word we transform the writing on one sheet. No matter if you use the pen is the right word.

The passion in my journal writing is becoming. Because of these circumstances if ent and perish as many of you. Our spirit have those kinks that emerge when we outlined a word, to say that we love and accept it memorable to be forgotten. Can be read as a pun, and if you go beyond a game of passion. Undress each syllable to the delight of the eyes of those who feel like us.

And every word tell a story about love, lust and cities. Each letter called a truth or a simple lie. And we will seek to be a creator of universes, with thousands of expectant eyes judge our purposes. And we will be defining our own sense of the word.

be better if we love, be true?

Some friends asked me which part is Kundera, so here indicated that part with great pleasure, is the part shown in bold. That quote belongs to the book "The Book of Laughter and Forgetting."

The rest is my responsibility, I think it is more than explained, a hug

------------------

Benedetti: the memory of his verses

I like to say that someone was, especially from someone who label a time in my writing and that of many of us, I mean Benedetti. For those who feel their departure, will continue this while reading. I leave a poem one of his poems, which made me very happy one moment and when I read it makes me doubly happy.

HEART ARMOUR

Because you

I have and not because you think

because the night is wide-eyed

because the night passes I say love

because you come to collect your

image and you

better than all your pictures

because you are beautiful from the foot to the soul

because you are good from the soul to me

sweet because you hide the pride

sweet little

shell heart

because you're mine

because you are not my

because I look and I die

and worse than dying

if I look at love

and do not look

because you
always exist wherever

But there are better where you want

because your mouth is blood

and you're cold

I have to love love

I have to love

although this wound hurts like two

but you look and you will not find

and although

night pass and I have

and no.

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De Benedetti retention time of angels and demons

Watching fixed point to skirt the system away from my window at the top I can not believe I have wings and fly to disappear as a fold of the sky. I would like to be close to my street and my friends, the distance of what you love with edges of madness of the eternal return, it will sound to cliché certain phrases, but today I feel that everything returns to the same.
few weeks ago I toured the Ferry, with route S taten Island, many mentioned to me that is the most boring place in New York. This is a small island that is connected to Manhattan via NY Bay. Richmond used to call it but from 1975, the decided City rename the Staten Island district. always wanted to change my route turned around the block and go get some fresh air outside the city Dad, I changed the mood and take me to contemplate new landscapes. The trip was beautiful and comfortable in a free ferry leaves every hour, near Battery Place a very poetic. From there one can see the statue from a different angle, more in profile as if saying goodbye to one. One of my reasons was to visit the Museum Zen NY, a tiny museum and as many the second most important after the Zen of the Tibet Museum, which you can arrive after a long journey. Upon reaching the island you take the bus and then walk uphill a few miles until you reach the top where the museum. When I felt that links you with air time, that breath that touches your neck as if you speak too close.
This whole story could be the start of a memory. In these moments we have as a flash of light inside our brains and opening as the opening of a camera. And we cut to take into account our own existence and place it against reality. The insistence of the body that wants to stay and is beating him vulnerable to indestructible. That becomes as well a good friend said, deaf-mute. Bodies
no voice, no nothing decir, todos tenemos algo que decir sea como sea siempre buscamos un medio para decir algo a los demás. Así llegué a la 11 de Fulton St. Después de haber recorridos un par de veces sus calles, para por fin decidirme a entrar a ver la exhibición de Bodies . Increíble y fascinante: no hay más palabras para explicar lo asombrosa que es esta exhibición. Uno va penetrando a cada sala y se va sorprendiendo de todo lo que tenemos d entro; somos como un mecanismo que fluye para existir y que podría ser desconectado por un segundo a través del hipocampo, parte de nuestro sistema límbico que constituye un mecanismo armónico que es capaz de elaborar funciones como la expresión emocional and the central emotion. If this fails we lose the memory and all our memories and part of our feelings. The hippocampus is small and is within our brain. The room puzzled me most was the nervous system that governs most of our parallel systems. Paper would fail me to say what I felt to see all that. However, I also wondered who these humans that are before me, stripped of its interior and displayed as part of a learning system and I got to thinking that human beings part d and claims are wonderful. Upon leaving I went to seaport where is the port where the wind return my breath again.
This exhibition of real bodies with cynicism displayed before thousands of eyes everyday. I carried a memory of a couple of weeks ago, while returning from Hoboken NJ to visit someone, was 2 of the morning and felt very cold. After two trains, I was on the third. When finally reached the last train and went but after two stops immediately stopped and started again. Hear many voices, someone was lying on the floor of the train, the smell was very strong and seemed to have a couple of hours and no one had noticed until the scent. That smell that casts the soul as it departs. It's the same smell that could be disappointment and neglect if they had a scent. That is shrouded as a soft blues unforgettable, in a soft voice in the distance, almost lost among the noise of the ordinary and inevitable, keeping the heart of man in front of thousands of bodies that sometimes do not understand.

The photographs were taken by my camera, which is back in the first picture is me

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Men are strange beings have days that are variants of any day and others store in boxes through traces or bus tickets. We could put the solemnity of an equinox or reinvent before sunset. The same circumstances would give us the same sense of inconsistency to others but that would make us unique. Today is like tomorrow and would be the same as yesterday.

I always felt trapped by the expiration representing the Hudson River, that is not now, it comes from I checked some old photographs of the river at dusk, even before knowing who would come to New York and I knew that should feel your scent on my face. I could say that theories are armed and the homogeneity of the universe or just invent for free.

Sometimes the distances are like puzzles that originate and close concentric and oblique, that way I was walking toward Fulton Street to the Brooklyn Bridge and saw near the Hudson River. It was very late, drizzling, I stood on the wooden railing, I felt the wind as I crawled into space and I remembered a dream of lies and I wrote. The wind hit my face and I knew it was a lie and I cried. I understand why they are childish dream gods and mortal men dream that they are gods because they do not want to be childlike. Rilke remembered stalked by a choir of angels in his Duino Elegies strangely Blake fighting with angels legionaries of the abyss and realized that they had their own demons but turned them into angels.

The city I feel great and stalker, but that night I felt his company, including its streets and sidewalks felt his loneliness as mine as yours. Their paths took me to the bridge across the river Hudson. It was eleven and the bridge was still being passed, I marveled at their equity to accept all at that time was our us in his body and pretended to understand the indifference of human beings. And I knew it was nothing in the instance of time, nothing conspicuous as the other and did not want to know more. For the eternal does not arise until you seek is so ephemeral and sailed on into nothingness. I threw a sheet and floated towards the river cautiously swinging in good shape trying to be loved by the wind to not break but just disintegrated.

Then I remembered the words of Rilke, who would hear me if I shouted between angels ... among people who only sees itself. I thought what is forgiveness, and Blake told me is the abyss of men who do not love . I merged into combat these verses and realized something very simple that only forgive those who love. I loved a lot and I do not regret it.

''''''''''

Volume

pending Rainer Maria Rilke's Duino Elegies his book William Blake and his book The marriage between heaven and hell, two poets who took his verses, and I leave in italics.

\\

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In the father's name on Ithaca and spaces

Loneliness is a big boat full of crazy where all paddle in reverse, where you stay underwater and turn your back against the wall. These are the stigmas that allows me to ignore the existence of creation, however, persist in it. Returning again to bridges, subways, streets and windows of the metro where I quickly cross the whereabouts of every alley, street or wandering musician. To the wobble of dormancy and cold overwhelming, remind me what is safe to be lost in oblivion and ephemera of the time it slips through our fingers, not even perceive. I survived the night and here at the memory persist inexhaustible cualsea where it comes from the memory. A term - cualsea - taken after a reading of Agamben very seriously indeed. And these nights you push to be part of the breath of that air malicious gradually overcomes you by breaking the streets against the current. I hear a voice that makes me want to open my eyes as if to escape the dream, indomitable fighting against my kidnappers do not let me wake up. When open, an old toothless insult to all humanity, as the hostage no name. Shows an old stick and rush quixotically to the scorn and apathy with magic words: the consciousness of working for nothing without one. After calls for support from site to site, when it comes to my place, I ask him about his problem, he responds that it was so important that I had forgotten, and looking out the window question could take this train to paradise? Thinking and co nTest something, but he made a hand gesture delimiting: the end does not matter if I do not know who I am. I looked out the window and turning the head the old man and was not heard from him ever again.

The necessity of remembrance to the daily, the newspaper be without being not cost absolutely nothing and return again to cualsea needed for forgetfulness. That brings me to remember, off the plane and look for the crowd to my brother, and look after years, the streets of my city. A city full of desires, secrets and forgotten. I entered the house and saw my father sitting at the table, I approached him and hugged him, he turned and said, "Who are you. I'm your daughter (I said). He smiled and shook his head: You're not my daughter, she is in New York. Again, the chain of forgetfulness abducted in time, lost in limbo with no memory. And my father, lost in oblivion as insufferable as herbs walling without escape.
Comes the desire of the night without memories to feel some peace and peaceful sleep to the apocryphal. I walk into my attic and forgetfulness persist in wanting my father to the immutable that the development takes away every day with no backsliding. As one old man who fought against humanity and the minutes could not recall who it was. And I start omens where is just some of my memories and not hurt the thinking between words full of lies. That's just right now, which fills the entire night and indifference take him to oblivion pleasure of the damned. And as Jose Emilio Pacheco say "do not ask me how time flies" I'll take my memories to throw them out the window for the artificial vanish between the omission and indifference. So one day you can ask and who do you go? No recall not a single lie cualsea, in the name of the father.

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What is a body feel when you love? Die and be reborn a thousand times in another revival of espac io and return the body back. Explore the limits of millions of wishes to convert only one for the other to feel the touch of the body. Stretching
silences to be words in and explode when you open your eyes to start again in a body ...
The year which burst faded, I'm here looking through the window of the plane thousands of feet high, away from the city I live some time ago to meet a break to stop my evenings, bridges, my nights Deluge and delirium. And penetrates the wind runs smoothly between us, we hope to touch his hand creeping our souls often forgotten by others. We feel the pressure to rise, makes us remember a moment that belong to the fragmentation of time, the old cynicism of some memory and eternity of our body given someone a thousand times by ourselves.
Long trips are so boring and had to change trains in NY to Miami to catch another I take a short vacation. After making a long line, hand over documents and go through the manga could get to my seat and sit down. I wanted to relax and listen to music, Caetano Veloso and had to Coldplay - a strange mixture but interesting to my ears. I brought Cavafy, a book needed for a trip and I began to leaf through. Suddenly I heard a voice singing half my seatmate was a very smiling Argentine drinking a beer, which he told me to scale from Texas to Miami to go to Lima.
Tome that we were all guided to a target time together to meet some respite hope. The eternal return of some memory left stark nonsense. How to make sense of the eternal, the incident delirium of time? A shameful what is left of desire and know it's hopeless. Recover each of those flames which the body burns sustained in memory, you know it's almost ethereal so do not want to remember anything.
Travel is part of a strategy, we are almost like chameleons that we need to transform seasonally to revive again. To return to air new and reinvent ourselves. I see the lights through the window in the dark and understand that this trip will be adventurous and will take up some souvenirs. Before you buckle up and save the book, I think in the future to understand the meaning of Ithaca.