Bocetos en el metro. Frío.
El invierno se apresuraba. Las noticias del noticiero solo auguraban la buena nueva del reencuentro de la matanza en los pueblos. Reencuentro de pasado y tradición. Acto supremo de raíz. Enfrentamiento directo a la yugular de la crisis. El rumor era evidente y la necesidad acuciante. Los proverbios evidentes, aunque el prócer guardaba siempre un naipe marcado.
JaviJerryLee®2013 Noviembre día 28
Sketches in the meter. Cold. So it is, that was the sigh in the face. The cold invaded its ribs comfortably settling in the bones. Picón was not material sufficient that it made disappear the silence of so uncomfortable presence. Nor a voluminous treaty in prefelt icebergs of their feet would not make raise the temperature. In spite of having the contented heart like the song of Palito Ortega and the spirit in movement like the subjects of the Kings. Thats All right. That is everything. The romantic presence of the snow hug upset the coctelera of its thought. Trasformando the black target, of black to feel, in the temporary forms of a winter. With company/signature of uncertain candles, the sentence of a new year would fall on. The winter hurried. The news of the single reporter augured good the new one of the encounter of the slaughter in the towns. Tradition and encounter last. Supreme act by root. Direct confrontation to the jugular one of the crisis. The rumor was evident and the pressing necessity. The evident proverbs, although prócer always kept naipe noticeable. JaviJerryLee®2013 November day 28