tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434433572933335552011-11-27T21:50:57.706-03:00mundo taperpnoreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-37611885217929921902011-11-21T11:46:00.001-03:002011-11-21T11:46:39.157-03:00is this the face i want to see everyday when i wake up?pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-65754346646663061832011-09-02T09:30:00.000-03:002011-09-02T09:30:00.865-03:00"Which is immobile here - the obstruction or your attitude?"
pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-83528534953335696552011-09-02T09:19:00.000-03:002011-09-02T09:19:36.788-03:00looking at the sea, she realized she was holding to him like a castaway lost in the storm of the unloved.pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-9972146950940035432011-09-01T05:52:00.000-03:002011-09-01T05:52:09.640-03:00i'm afraid of going out in the street and finding my old me wandering in the darkness, just as lost as i am.pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-74127625023405488092011-07-21T22:34:00.001-03:002011-07-21T22:34:53.700-03:00 -I bought a bike.
-Great! But you don't cycle that much, do you?
-well, no, but you are coming, subway here is so expensive and you can use it...
pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-53427406687825649452011-07-21T18:41:00.000-03:002011-07-21T18:41:16.485-03:00"no, i'm not a racist. but there is just too many different people... i grew up among swedish and finnish people, and that is ok... but in stockholm there are too many."
(a truck driver from skelleftea to sundsvall, sweden)pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-70456034247105849222011-07-21T11:01:00.000-03:002011-07-21T11:01:33.578-03:00i went to visit her island of solitude. she was lonely from incomprehension.
she waved goodbye with tears, filling up the ocean around her.pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-89189462667809789482011-07-21T10:58:00.000-03:002011-07-21T10:58:44.013-03:00"i plan to be forgotten when i'm gone". sinking his nails in the armchair, he sings with his eyes closed. pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-57355658100300873952011-07-21T10:53:00.002-03:002011-07-21T10:53:59.070-03:00"the swedish are like ikea: they want everything in a box, nice, clean and with clear limits. and with instructions, of course".pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-5643967835796445162011-07-21T10:42:00.001-03:002011-07-21T22:38:55.094-03:00he was playing the piano, yann tiersen.
the apartment was an overload of russian memories painted in sepia.
i look through the window, saint petersburg was happening behind the glass.
i cried. Happiness.pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-45529939972223186232008-10-10T17:07:00.000-03:002008-10-10T17:08:06.345-03:00brotación poéticapnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-59228329066048872992008-08-20T02:12:00.002-03:002008-08-20T02:15:54.982-03:00pasa la nena por el vagón, ofreciendo mano, beso y papelito a todos los pasajeros. las cabezas se hamacan en silencio al ritmo de un no.pnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-35334245648298047612008-07-15T15:53:00.003-03:002008-07-15T16:02:15.838-03:00cortó el semáforo. y el tipo adentro del auto se comió un turrón entero, sin tocarlo con las manos.pnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-40555496072062599242008-07-04T12:21:00.002-03:002008-07-04T12:23:32.161-03:00hablan las señoras, se quejan acerca de cuanto tarda el doctor en atender. aprietan nerviosamente los sobres de papel madera que dan fe de sus dolores, de sus miedos. esperan. hay temor en la cara de algunas, desconfianza en la mirada de otras.la que llega pregunta cuanto falta, la que sale comenta su dolencia.hablan las señoras, como si eso mitigara la espera, como si acaso curara.pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-44148167644583929802008-03-07T14:23:00.003-02:002008-03-07T14:28:41.769-02:00tenía el kit completo: traje, sombrero, kipá y ese lazo que cuelga de la cintura. tenía hasta los bucles rojizos asomando. y montado a sus rollers, pasó como una ráfaga por la calle.pnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-6836691411155189942008-03-03T15:32:00.001-02:002008-03-03T15:32:53.746-02:00la palabra clave: concentración.pnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-20656741729026439502008-03-03T15:11:00.002-02:002008-03-03T15:13:55.082-02:00tenía una panza descomunal y llevaba puesta una remera de shakira tan ajustada que cuando caminaba, la hacía bailar.pnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343443357293333555.post-44227047900616774752008-03-03T14:42:00.000-02:002008-03-03T14:43:39.546-02:00el tipo caminaba para atrás en la escalera mecánica. y detenía el tiempo.pnoreply@blogger.com2