BAR&ANKÁS BLOG

I PLAN OF PATHETIC FOR
MORE BEARABLE TIMES

It will be a prudent hour. One will listen to a buzz.
The fragments of a sleep will jump over the quarter,
And we will get up with ready Don Limpio,
to wash the guts, the sadness layers;
the grounds, that the life us gift,
as an elegant postuladora of lewd mouth.

We him will not forget to spit at the error,,
its deplorable eyes capable of swallowing you,
its face of my daughter of prostitute.

We will contemplate then the mirror,
feeling wonderingly hairs, neck, nut.
The undeniable reality of the image.
The truth of the pain, the anger and the happiness.
Impeccable the teeth. The desire.

And we will possess again the stupor of those who have a good time of whom toquetean its illumination,
believing in the kindness of the future.

We will kiss enthusiastically our weakness,
and we will go out to the street to be conquered
damsels full of panties.

To poke the entrails, to the Myth of the Bida.

And if the night Fuck you confuses you …. (Lump it)

My lady:

It was an absolute senselessness to love you, to invent the strategy that was taking you to me, to the labyrinth where I keep your aroma and the insatiable kiss that was transforming into gold my lips of toy, my lips of profane and sacrilegious slave who dared to ask for favors of the queen of the White Gazelle that fills the bedrooms with green satyrs who sprout from its eyes.

I forgot that the happiness always continues to the disaster, asked for filters of love and beautiful masks, and prepared to enter the mysteries of the Nuptial bed of Fire, the marine garden of your thighs.

Consult with druids and witches and doctors, they all threatened me to desist from the fact, warned me about the terrible punishment that it chases eternally to the heretics who try to meet the Elected one; more I dared to look at you, defied your deepest eyes, the abysses that have swallowed ships and treasures, puzzler where the tenderness sleeps, and penetrated into the routes of the nutritional females, into sarcofagi full of sweetness and pain.

Today that my destination is perhaps insuperable, that in your belly were finding the madness and the death, and that my youth was burned in your waist and although I am not a hero, I wait for my end without desperation, with serenity of remembering you, of knowing that my arms took your body in, that in my hands the bravery was of touching and in my fingers your tact lasts to velvet … the glory of your skin in my saliva.

My only hope is the negligence, that the gods ignore my presence in the Temple, that they excuse my rash love for the Elected one, that they think that the Prescript is weaker than the incredible music of your eyes.

But if I am still alive, if only they condemn me to the exile, I will move my lips to another court, will know of the delights of another queen, I will be corrected again of blasphemer, I will fall from grace, and from there, my eyes will shine towards a new unknown country …

Towards a new mystery.

That the night it confuses you to us

There is readership of Blogs and readership of Forums, if you are of the first ones he enjoys this small gift and if on the contrary you are of the second ones, enjoys the same way; later, penetrate into a good forum, drink from its knowledge sources, and taste of opinions with (common) sense.

If you have had (friend / friend), the bravery of reading these lines and sharing the taste for this video, my congratulations.

I have eaten the most sweet grapes along with you
Oh princess's exquisite pubis nymphomaniac
My language has not furrowed more indecent breasts
Not even bolder backs
And your moisture is only comparable to the cataracts
Of my imaginary country.
But I must continue
The luxury of lying is not allowed me
In the soft shores of this lake
To hope that its waters should deliver to me the crying of the moon
The whiteness of a few waves that will not have to come
Now who is necessary to invent every day the spectacle
And to cross the lake
Because possibly to another side different publics exist
Ignored fragrances
Fortunate songs on the walkers hurt by nostalgia
Or bodies that bloom in autumn
There perhaps It Bigives it execute its dance
And be able to discern other borders that today only I reach in the imagination
Other profiles of incredible light
To that I will come with my very clean hair
Because on my weight the condemnation of the nomad
And the privilege has not been given me
Of the definitive thing
More you also can cross the lake
You can dry your clothes to the heat of the nations who live further away
And to ask if over there some tightrope walker happened with absent look
With the blue temples and in the mouth a pronoun

Very similar to YOU

That the night it does not confuse you, sometimes it usually happens. ;))

It notices: to the purists of the spelling, to say, that each and everyone of the orthographic absences committed in this text, there are no product of a bad praxis of the author, not of the reviser of Word, but of the deliberate intention of the one who has written them.

Since I learned to read and the first books came to my hands, rare has been the one that has not mentioned to these two terms, Muses and Inspiration. I have always believed that so much one as the different thing there is alone fruit of the imagination of the authors who were naming them, but the reality is that although there have been a product of the fantasy and imagination of these, in the reality they exist.

Muse can be … a song and the inspiration the images that are appearing in your mind when you listen to the melody. Images and melody is what they have provoked in me the achievement of this musical assembly. The melody? The song of The Rise “sleeping in your bellybutton”, the images? All that he contemplates a bellybutton (of woman). La canción de El Arrebato “durmiendo en tu ombligo”, las imágenes? Todas las que contemple un ombligo (de mujer).

I hope that you should like and should enjoy him as I on having done it, and remember …

That the night it does not confuse you.