Antonia, it’s time to rise today
Your breakfast is ready, your tutor waits
“Time is running", mama says
There’s much to learn as a princess

Antonia, follow whatever we please
Stand tall and straight, hide your scarred knees
You’re no longer a little girl
You’re bound to be a queen of the world

Antonia, quickly, put on your shoes
Lace your corset so it’s anything but loose
If you’re short of breath, you’ll have to wait
A true royal must never be late

Antonia, there’s no more time to play
With your chin up, follow what we say
You must learn to be a trophy of France
To walk with grace, to speak, to dance

Antonia, stop laughing like a witch
Don’t be a disgrace, you’re not a *****
You’ll change your name and all in between
Marie Antoinette is who you are as queen

Marie Antoinette, with beauty from the gods,
You’ll marry a man you’ve never loved
You’re off to France, now say goodbye,
You are to leave everything behind

Marie Antoinette, you lover of life,
With your luxury and power, your kingdom’s in strife
As you live your own Versailles delusion
Your kingdom is brewing a violent revolution

Marie Antoinette, do you remember the sweet days of sixteen?
Here it all ends, with a cruel guillotine.
Antonia, free spirit, never meant to be
A girl chained by royalty, a reigning queen.

.via ghana: i iz welcome the haiku poetic extractionz of the maxim: full-on potentiality of - few words maximum effortz! one wishes to almost die from feng shui minimalism! chinese geomancy and european chiromancy (reading balzac et al.) - but the sigh poetic of pepsi max effort iz wot iz the breaking of the camel bonk and backß... last time i heard from a kenyan bartender... all the timber comes from ghana... as does the wheat from ukraine and the salt from poland... coal is always "elsewhere"... or no coal... wind... the wind comes from: far far away... beyond the language of the seven vowels...

it took much of an effort to have to overcome
a reading of Stendhal...
esp. when you find him in your teens..
almost impossible...

it's enough to visit a brothel:
once a year... perhaps skipping a year...
and there's enough body,
and skin, and warmth...
to contrast... what i'm yet to read about...
otherwise have read, i.e.:

2010s through the 2020 summary...
lucy holden now 29...
sexting, dating apps, bisexual flings
flatmates with benefits...
millenial serial dater...

all the details are already known...
mine? that strip-clup in athens on a whim
with two strippers either arm
burrowing my face solving the mole
in their cleavage...
the goodmayes borthel with the romanians
that said a very bulgarian word, once...

and who can ever forget
the south african cocoon ****-accusation
of: not unde the bed-sheets and please
oil up rather than dry-******* me...
or the thai surprise picked up
in a park and that a little bit of heavyweight
beer and some jazz and a garden shed will allow...
the number of times i've had ***...
well... what are fingers for?

the black girl with a coccyx like an iron maiden
attempting to tattoo itself onto my pelvis...
2nd time round?
i heard she had a child and his daddy
would be bringing him home the morning to come...
and this other black woman,
oh i mean: full detail - woman...
two children sleeping on the bed...
get dragged off...
thrown to the bed...
and i'm there to **** an imitation ******
of... a tight fold of legs...

it's not exactly **** but even with that:
i'm not a best fitter...
so tell her: it's not going to happen...
we pretend to sleep or at least i do...
when this afro-fur-ball with a plucking sound
of a smooch is standing at the end of the bird...
he's naked i'm naked everyone's naked
i pick him up like i pick up maine *****
and lay him on my chest...
i can't allow a river of fingers through
his afro tangles... so i pat them down...
and he falls asleep...

***... oh no ***** word about it monsieur!
just this *******...
oh but i'm glad that some girl nearing
her 30s has made up her mind up...
only recently i've heard that my mother was
attempting to woo a married man
who was part of the Solidary movement
and probably waiting for a greencard...
i heard this... from my grandmother...

i'm still pampering on the sly for
a Mary Antoinette...
Ilona was wrong... i wouldn't become
a child strapped to a hellhole of a teenager's bedroom...
i'd become a leech hybrid...
as along as i have enough excuses
to return for "the word"... and never rap it...
i'm fine fine... best be on my optimal behaviour...
to never find myself in a baptists' church choir...

- there's also a quick fix procedure...
the match of the day is watched
with the mascots on screen...
the ben-hur's not making it to
prophetic status... yes the bread...
yes the circus... and all those cul de sac...
soap operas of parking scenes...

and there's always language...
best expressed when drunk...
never sober because is what delves into
the formality of: dear sir / madam,
kind regards...

the day when i stopped combing my fair
and peered at the beard...
uncombed hair: almost reminds
me of donning a pineapple on it...
an ancient buddhist balancing act...
like performing the act of gravity...
without copernican mathematics...
as simple as finding the CENTER on
a bicycle... or like finding
buoyancy in a swimming pool...
perhaps i am more water than flesh...
but i'm also a fraction of fat...

i can float on water if i can find
the balance... i don't need to play
the drunkard treading water surviving
to stay afloat.... i... relax...
then i float.... or bob-on-the-surface
teasing an unexpected shark-bite-attack...
although: swimming in a sea
is not my thing...
i very much appreciate seeing
the bottom i can dive down toward
and touch... the chernobyl stink of chlorine...
is almost a parisian perfumery...

heat breeds diseases it breeds...
insects...
i abhor the heat...
the zenith of winter is yet,
is yet to arrive... and for the help of god:
i can't arrive at... writing sober...
should "poo'etry" ever be written sober
to begin with?
i mind: that i don't mind...

i can find 8pm and 9pm quite:
which implores you to not quit - curb colt...
i was making a sponge apple stuffing
roulade...
after having made some biscuit
with brown sugar and diadems of hazelnuts...
and prior to some sausage rolls...
three fillings...
cranberries with some peppers and
chillies...
fennel seeds with apple...
and the third... the third...
i don't quiet remember...

my head was exploding with a brain being
towed and all was:
i am yet to grieve a passing,
a tax of death...
i am yet to be left half imbecile and half
of any other texas hold-up poker game...
i'm wishing for...
that quarter of a million of a bet
i placed on:
one team wins...
but both have to score...
ergo... catching a mosquito by the testciles
donning boxing gloves chance...
2 - 1 etc. victories...

i don't want to blame women...
the last one i was serious about...
she's on her 3rd marriage or whatever...
and i'm still in woad: in deep blue
coinciding with...
god's roulette...

as a testiment of man...
there's the ambition to find: the void...
to find nothing...
and from that... find the thinking thing...
res vanus: the emptiness
that can be fathomed with more or less
thinking, than a yawn's presence...
because...
descartes doesn't really exact ontological,
whatever...
i can't be and be:
when i churn out a day-dream and
a day-dream is all that is...

thankfuly i have nothing to "work"
with... most women only have boredom to begin
with....
at exactly 20 minutes to 1am...
i'm not so sure...
a mother can say: you stink...
then you go and buy something from
a convenience store...
and the cashier stresses how fresh you smell...
that's quiet something...
a woman likes the way to smell to her...
in between doing these *******
tribunals of sweating over
apple roulades...

and Stendhal... it's only my mother...
i just have to gnash my teeth
and apply the burden of sober...
this canvas... no other...
i drink for the 1 hour pleasure
of disorientation...
a shot in the head in some Ukranian
prison...
stiched to the next to be executed...
chikatilo...
i'm not exactly fond of the company...
but i'm pretty sure...
kurt cobain... and his shotgun antics...

and how the prolonged death appeal
of Christine Chubbuck lasted much longer...
Kafka said it right:
a stab at the heart...
**** colt and boyo... don't aim for the head!
that's how Ukranian convicts die...
shot in the back of the head...
in a cell... never in the open...
it's not like the brain delves into
the automated unconscious of the pump
that's the heart... how do you think
the urban myth of the cockroach that lived
for 2 weeks more was born?
the head didn't have a mouth to ingest
food with...

shot in the back of the head is an execution
that, done in an Ukranian prison cell...
is pretty much all of Dante not visiting
either heaven or a hell...
but two weeks with... in the presence
of death... the body starving...
that magic finger-pointing exercise
of seeing death in movies?

well thank god they did a movie about
Christine Chubbuck's (rage against the machine):
bullet in the 'ed!
i was lied to, no matter...
i'm here to hush and sweep the leftovers...
because why would you march
a man into a prison cell...
shoot him in the head and close the door
and wait... because no: in the open...
with a chance for rabid dogs to feast on...
in the darkened night just shy of Kiev
would ever matter...

Christine Chubbuck was left dying on
life-support machines after her half-high Kiev
attempt to pop the balloon...
psych- myth of the brain as source
of the sigma soul...
my left toe has more soul than this
rubric forever explained as forever to be explored
goose-fat sponge...
come to think of it...
after a haemorrhage that no one believes
beside me, some neurologist and a dementia
riddled grandfather who easily forgot...

what's this brain this brain this nought?!
**** it... kamikaze cockroach!
as ever oh but always so much when
someone has to mention...
has to mention: with no exacting details
of fancy...

also called the drought period when pakistani
gangs are up in Leeds and i'm strapped
to the outlier Loon'don culture:
as ever playing the obedient schizoid...
because that's, just fair game...
centuries behind what the youth
of Denmark have to offer...
the mutterzunge and the l'inglese of:
any future of tourism with Jack's flag...

heavy influences stemming from
st. andrew and all the worth of wordworth
with a tinge of punk...
but never a baron of lexicon coming from
just shy of 4 hours away from
the lisp of masovian warsaw...

what could possibly be wrong?
how about... stemming it down to the root
of... sober people and the lacklustre of
when writing: under no influence at all...
apparently "now" the high moral ground!
the sobers usher in the words
that we are abide by when the football hooligans
their casual Tuesday mundane,
their casual Tuesday mundane custard
splodge of oats in regurgitation...

i can almost but not quiet...
imagine myself being the cameo in this dear diary
of these "free" women of the western world...
give me a feral black woman pulling
two kids from her bed in order
to imitate a ****** by folding her legs to
pretend...

it's still a bullet in the back of the head
for some, minor or major
andrei "cain" chikatilo -
no... with a full crop of cranium of hair...
and a grandmother that says...
well... how busy your chin hairs are...
that you are able to lodge a pencil in there
and it doesn't fall out...
hair here and all other hair elsewhere...
chest and... where the antioch identifier
of achilles ought to be of a six in sixes
packaged...

since who is buddha... or a christ when...
an thích quang duc "oops" happens...
the people will never leave their unison...
their get-together "happening"...
but what's to be celebrated should...
the crucifix be turned into that "other"
torture ordeal of being: piked...
crucifixion the tsunami wave of history...
when one can expect the fate
of being piked by the more imaginative
sorts?
if only the antichrist was gay
and was sentenced to levitate on a pike...
passion and ecstasy via
the Walhalla doing ****... again:
sorry if the pike missed the **** baptism
of ecstasy... and instead aimed
at ripping apart the flesh and bone at:
whatever pivot was made available
to work from reverse ingestion:
beginning with the pelvis...

i'm just tired and cooking and shooing
shadows for the past month and i know that it's
just an exaggerate lounge period...
and all i want is an added arm...
and the serenity leg to take the step to return to...
footsteps... with a bulging echo to command...

it needs to be stressed that these women were black...
i call them ivory beauties of chocolate come
quicksilver moon glistening...
i can't remember... no... "you're" right...
i never managed to **** anything
of an ethno-centric "perspective"...
i'd be arrested for that...
as if starting a hitlerjungen movement or
some other random "****"...

i'd package myself with a mexican strapped into
alcatraz...
the Louis of the Aztecs and some
long lost St. Juan of the Mayans...
leash me... Russian or Prussian or...
what's that third otherwise power of influence
that this body was allowed to morph into?

perhaps i once was allowed to control these words...
but that's how drinking goes...
it's a homocodie when you **** someone
when under the influence of alcohol when driving
a car...
this is a sort of homocide...
i trully gave my hands away to the devil...
and the brain: oh forget that old fabble of a pickle...
what's in brine was always supposed
to be in brine and pickled...

- and what were the chances of me becoming
a sentimental drunk... listening to some
crowded house - weather with you?
the la's - the la's... no... not merely the 1990s
epitome of h'american tourism lodged in london
of myth... as any ******... that myth translated
itself into paris... there she goes...
i mean the whole album...

whale! whale! a beached whale!
Grindadráp...
and some want to go on the Hajj...
and die in a human stampede at the Mecca...
but... well... some want to...
of all of Europe...
Venice, Paris, Rome, Athens,
Amsterdam, perhaps Edinburgh
(wink-wink nudge-nudge)...
Barcelona...
or... Grindadráp of the Faroe Islands...

capture a polyphony in language that is hardly
ever going to be much more
than a chance to... to do that...
shove three fingers into your gob...
expect an elevated volume of sounds...
call the hounds! a mile away!
i was never allowed to learn that
whistling "trick"...
perhaps that's why i never managed
to play the trombone or the clarinet...
the ****-poor leftover guitar...
which is as much as having to read
braille!

reality: i live in england but i'm a ******...
i haven't ****** an english girl...
or a ****** girl...
i was close! a ****** girl licked my face
like a cow, once...
chin, lips, nose and forehead...
i was actually waiting for e.t. when that
happened...
the pakistanis have all the english girls...
sorry... it's sad...
but... the australia...
the fwench... the russian...
it's a decent rubric...
crude... nuanced...
so is buying fwesh meat at the butchers...
the perfect crime is less severe...
fiddling with a tombstone...
then towing it for 2 miles...
to bury the remains of your cat...
after your neighbour "accidently" killed him
when you were away...
and of course they deny it...

after all... i live in a society...
innocent until proven guilty...
said jimmy saville...
it's not the old... european "misunderstanding"..
of guilty until proven innocent...
if not a real story of Tomasz Komenda...
there's the Shawshank Redemption...
or there's... the Count de Monte Cristo...

if all are innocent until proven guilty...
what's that? the genesis story never happens...
it's hardly a moral deterent...
isn't it? people will do as any aleister crowley
would command them to do:
do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law;
this is a naive presupposition of
fudge-packed jurisprudence...
what should have been egg-whites..
it merely some sugar dissolved in water...

statistical counts aside...
i would be more inclined to... fear...
being held guilty... to then be allowed "innocence"...
that to being held innocent...
to then be forced as a doubly-culprit!
how does the double jeopardy paradox arise...
from the high pillar of: innocent until
proven guilty?!
law is at one's own leisure...
should all be bound to an innocence...
revisions of the biblical metaphor...

if we can all be innocent...
wouldn't we at least all fathom an innocent
attempt to break some law?
for a matter of: testing the waters?
even if innocent until proven guilty is true...
there's no narrative of redemption...
why is it that the shawshank redemption
is such a popular movie?
since it adopts the continental motiff of:
guilty... until proven innocent...
it offers... redemption...
it's a popular movie because it's unfair
for the basis of a single individual...
not some amassing of victims of a jimmy saville
recount... that have... none... zilch...
no redemption!
their redemption: ist tod!

because if i were to be found guilty...
with no chance of defence...
i would exercise a double-think in relation to this...
rather than exercise this leisure into
grieving the orwellian zeitgeist monstrosity of
but the one novel...

i'm not convinced of the english model...
this... innocent until proven guilty...
this pontius pilate argument...
i'm not for it! this sinking to the core of my heart
and hopefuly, prevents me from a heartbeat...
perhaps so fewer examples of
the #metoo would come to the fore...
if... one were not so easily allowed
a ststus of innocence...
perhaps... guilty until proven innocent...
doesn't allow...
so readily accessed accusations...
perhaps this modern, english model of
jurisprudence...
is missing a medieval lisp?

as law abiding as would suggest...
i would be much more deterred from inacting
a grievance should i be found guilty...
without a benefit of a doubt of a jury...
than if i were to be given the a priori: innocent
status...

i don't like this: england and greenwich in tow
is the bellybutton of the world
demand of... all else is less than we...
no... did i come from Algiers?!
what has Algiers to do with it and Leeds
shouldn't?!

at least that's how a man sobers up...
while still drinking...
he might focus on sober demands...
of topics that only drunks should speak of...
and since neither of the two meet...

because i have stood as a witness
in a court...
and i was given a photograph to...
"compare" having identified him in a mugshot...
the photograph i was shown still
had a date imprinted on it...
and this was the ******* argument...
the photograph was years old...
i identified the culprit in the police mugshot...
but the case was "won"... for no apparent reason...
the witness said: i...
this photograph is years old...
i can grow a beard and hippy attire in a year's time...
of course i was the witness that said:
note down the registration plate
of the car this camel-jockey jumped out of
and grabbed m'ah fwends mobile...

i've seen how: innocent until proven guilty works...
i'm not conviced...
i can't be... there's something instinctual preventing
me from adhering to this english...
jurisprudent sensbility...
it's hardly a ******* charles dickens novel...
if it were... and i greatly underestimated
charles dickens... no... really...
i shouldn't have read any of dostoyevsky...
i should have read charlie ****'oh'ends...
believe me when i say that is hould have...
since... heidegger's ponderings VII - XI
will retain their shelf-status as... the book most
probably unread...

such is the sobering process...
am i, in no way, allowed to sacrifice my 'ed
on the premise that: innocent until
proven guilty is the right categorial imperstive
to buckle on... since...
the anglophonic world buckles on it...
like a spectacular breakdance feat of
a penguin on steroids...
doing the diving header tsunami
of chore: the crowd goes wild!
it's no operatic applause and being
"superficially" reminded as to how...
find your proper seat...
before the castrato peacock does his
singing bit...
apparently finding one's seat
when it's never going to be a maggot-pit
at a slipknot concert is all that's
about to happen...

come by the butcher's and let's attempt
in finding you some oysters
among the volume of red boisterous...
to replica your genital parts
and sordid caviar letfovers...

perhaps i could be angry...
but la ilah illa blah'lah...
i am... halway bound between
being simulation circumcised
and being castrated...
i never which is which...
notably, given...
circumcised men are not allowed
the impetus of taking up
web-cam Susan on promise of...
also pleasing themselves
without wanting to earn some money...

it's a real problem though:
innocent until proven guilty versus
guilty until proven innocent...
relish...
the english indiosyncratic
wishing they were scandinavian iceland...
no... honey too sweet tooth bear...
this is not how the GMP affair that exends
with its genesis in the jimmy saville affair
looks like...
this quest for: apparently "superior"
is not going to work on me...
kin of a kind-of luvvie dubby...
bon voyage!

the entire continent is listening...
individualistic rights...
innocent until proven guilty...
the more i reiterate these words...
the more i sober up...
because i can't see how...
i am: a thief...
until i am proved to be... a thief...
by having performed the act
of thieving...
or not even an "after"...

sorry... please expose your divine
rational intelligence and tell me
via a reiteration that 2 + 2 = 4...

i am not a thief,
but i am a thief...
only if the act of stealing is proved...
and if "the" act of stealing is not proved...
i'm way more than a thief...
i'm a thief with a baby driver!
this anglican logic *****...
if innocent until proven guilty...
is to sustain the individual flourishing...
i'd rather make theatre of the original,
biblical deterrent...
a queen of this sort of popish claims
and her duaghters of yorkshire because...
the pawns of justitia...

conventionality of continetal thinking...
there's not even a "what if" or
"it would be better" should... allow,
extended into:
guilty until proven innocent...
rather than... innocent until proven guilty...

i sometimes find myself chattering...
in the cold...
but i'm not chewing anything...
i'm pretending to pivot the piano on a ghost...
being played as some per se magician's
excavation of: whatever time...
thus it was spent...

i call it chattering chopin...
bite marks available... like the multitude
of signature most willing to be...
allocated a collection foreseeable...

the would the artichokes of arabia...
or the fennel roasted roots of Italy...
there's something to be had of a woman
sporting the "cherokee" leopard-skin prints
on something that's...
90% cotton and 10% lycra?!

and the reason why i visited a brothel
in the past ten years was because?
if i want to play poker...
i'll play poker...
easy ***? it's not so easy in the act
and you want to find a kiss and...
she tells you: it's against the laws
of this sort of nunnery...
but you still manage to slurp a lip or two
of a shy pluck of the tulips of the sea...
or however this thing that
language is works...
if it's not going to be a hammer and nail...
forever... this "excuse" to allow nothing
more than YA novels...
metaphors and... pedantry of elswhere
from punctuation?

herioglyphic assumptions of :) emoji?
wink barrel baron! oi!
non-responsive...
black also implies: ivory beauty...
i started to admire their teeth...
since mine were always going to be
custard yellow death grin...
like bone to the rot...

no... i'm pretty sure tonight ends
here; now;
the prodigy - destroy...
given how... keith flint...
and that horse... and it was never a tale
of the stormy badger...
and how the fox is my aid and will
never make it to...
transcend the red coat hunting parties...
because... just because.

Testimony of the Love of Life

Ludwig ...: “Today ..., tomorrow and the day after, will be the today that walking has taught me through the experience of running through the months together with the years, and I have not feared the divine or the unknown. Today I have seen the greatest reflection of light, which enlivens, guides me, and will show me a space of trust, perhaps one of those who come here in summer, and singles are linked together. And possibly the other is the one who does not speak to me, nor does he expose himself like those in the summer, they only appear radiant or multi-stimulating, giving opportunities. Like other times, his inspirational work is repeated with something poetic ...: "And where you are blind, that the light bathes my eyelids with a deep glow ... Just keep quiet and speak with your eyes ...just look at, for the strange and watery feel …and so be the ear who perpetuates the sound. And so it is that in the static, it is impossible to accept ...how ironic that laughter opens to wards arousal ...When you turn on the light, and see the fearful darkness I perceive the new knowledge ... "

Ludwig ...: How many more times will I have to endure changes, such as those that come against my will ...?

But I know well what I represent and what I have to join, and thus alleviate my life and do not disapprove of what I feel in poetry, or perhaps the meaning I see in it seems rudimentary. Above all, the doubtful, the interested, the most enviable thing that a person has, that is multifaceted does not manifest itself specifically, but goes straight ahead to hide the verisimilitude, and only entrusts to others or another the worst armed evil of today ... "The tiredness of the targets, that if they remain close they move away, distrusting the worst cruelty ..." Well, now, get away from me cursed and cruel. Let me let you sleep in the sweet comfort of sleep and finally fight for me. Until I get angry with others, but everything is bearable. I don't want to think too much, I'm afraid to forget, or maybe I don't want to fear anything, I just know that I will ruin the attempts since there will be nothing to cheer for since I was born not to live and build absolutely nothing (End). Almost leaving the same thought, brief in content, but great in prosecution, he feels the voice of a flute and its faithful sound.

Fernando ...: Friend ..., as soon as I knew that you came I was very happy, especially now that, who knows if we will see each other again? The truth is that in a week I'm going back to Germany, I've already confirmed the flight. But make me sad alone, no I want to enjoy this moment of this place with so much bustle, so many hours under the sun and good friends.

Ludwig ...: Life is so short, everything happens so fast and we continue to yearn tirelessly, we continue to tirelessly squeeze memories. Sometimes, I feel that time does not pass later and I would like to grow old later, or if some accident or illness has to come, let it come. Or sometimes, I am interested in childhood, but I am more interested in Today.

Fernando ...: Play the flute today with something from yesterday that is so beautiful .--- Take the flute and play without stopping as if it were falling into the water.

Ludwig ...: I'm leaving Fernando, I hope we say goodbye before you go .--- Fernando tells him logically I'll go to your house to say goodbye. They both go back to their homes, and in them, some desire for company animated. It was the gentle company of the sea breeze. But in Ludwig Antoinette boiled like her attractive spiritual force, which is extensive to explain.

Ludwig ...: It was very nice to see you, and I wish you good luck.
Fernando ...: Thank you, also for you.

They hug and say goodbye. Each one moves away, Fernando goes happily where his parents, while Ludwig has no one, except Antonieta, who would see later and this time in the beautiful landscape at night. He walks and walks, until the crosses of the night of the great lighted city, indicating that he was close when he passed near the Park. As he passed by he longed to see Antoinette at the fountain, but he went on and crossed the underpass and approached his beloved home. Upon reaching the front yard, he saw Antonieta sitting.

Ludwig ...: Antoinette ...! But how can you be out here? We agreed to meet at seven and I know it's seven-thirty, sorry for the delay.

Antonieta ...: Don't worry, it has helped me to know your environment, and how wooded it looks.

Ludwig ...: You're right, I call this the Flower Forest of my Green City.

Antonieta ...: If I understand now, this is very different from everything.

Ludwig ...: Although now I am fixing some parts that remain of my parent's old house. So I am going to repair the most essential.
Antonieta ...: It will be very nice in this beautiful, beautiful and picturesque place.

Ludwig ...: Well, what do you want to do? , go somewhere or stay here.

She replies that she wants to stay and Ludwig tells her that as she wishes, so he takes advantage of inviting her to a celebration of the anniversary of a Film Institute. She tells him that she would confirm him these days, but that she does invite him to a trip to Calypso Lake. Ludwig agreed and then invited her to roast a fish and some salads.
Antonieta helped him and then they ate the exquisite menu, they sat by the edge of the fire to talk.

Ludwig ...: One day I was coming from Sara's house, and on the way, I found a run-over dog, I took it and brought it here, where I assumed the food chain would be. In effect, that way I felt as if it were a clean place, open as a field of ecological habitat, the current city that I have. As you can see here, it is wide, its extension reaches one hundred and fifteen thousand hectares.

Antonieta ...: Your Ecologist city is very big and it also has a lot of beauty. It is an ideal place.

Ludwig ...: Do you know if I die I will donate it to people who wish to cultivate this fertile space.

Antonieta ...: I hope you don't die Ludwig so later, I would like you to always keep your property.

Ludwig ...: How nice to hear that!

Ludwig takes her by the head and hugs her for a long time. He tells her that if he was okay and she tells him that he made her feel that way. He intimately thought ...: “How much I miss running through the hills, sliding down the slopes until I reached the top and raising my hand to cool my phalanxes in the mountain air. But still, my phalanxes are warm hugging her, who shares the peace with me. When he finished thinking, he began to look at the small flames of the stove and suddenly the smoke on his exhale. Ludwig followed the fumarole that lost him, that astonished him. Antoinette was asleep, so he left her stretched out in the fire and followed the walking cemetery smoke. He left behind the pool, the orange groves, the oaks, and the eucalyptus, always following her as if she were an oil stain on the water. But he did not understand the bronze glow, but he did like to get away from the world and he did that in his redoubt. He says ...: "I want him to speak to me, to name this spot, but he makes me follow it everywhere." The fumarole was deposited on a large stone, and it reached here, then it disintegrated. Ludwig reached out and touched her, feeling that she was warm. And he says that what was there was very valuable and that something would come out of it ... After coming back the same way, he felt a certain suspicion on his back, it was how lonely and quiet the forest was, not even the owls cawed, only the cold of the night circulated. Upon reaching the pool, he skirts it to the other end, where he ducks it, seeing that some were there.

When suddenly in the mirror of the water, the aureoles of gray rain appear irrigating the lagoon. He says What a sensational ... what a pure rain ...!Then he goes to the path to his house, where Antonieta was sleeping. Now she was coming back to life, to the jungle, the drops produced the formidable sound of her falling, of the largest waterfall that exists. When he reached the extinguished stove, he saw that Antonieta had taken refuge under the willow tree.

Antonieta ...: How could you let others take over something so yours, right ...?

Ludwig ...: This is beautiful, it has also healed me of many ailments, actually I love it like everything that exists here.

Antonieta ...: What do you want from me ...?

Ludwig tells her that he liked her just the way she was and that she was something similar to what she was extracted from the wooded place.  She says how beautiful it to hear that, and asks him to share as much time as they could .--- Ludwig tells him that she thought like an exemplary mother, he says ...: Don't you know how I like to hear that it be so? Uh ... I think it's time to leave you. You are right, I have to go to work tomorrow, she answers him. They call a taxi, and Antoinette leaves Ludwig at midnight. When she got home it was still raining and the cold was freezing more than ever, Ludwig warns her about the invitation on Saturday. Antonieta receives him like this, but she wanted to say something to him before, Ludwig is left in suspense waiting ..., and she gives him a big kiss, with the same desire to give it to him. When he returned home, the rain was a great spectacle, it was a bit of a joyful feeling and a bit of sadness at the same time. Because that's right, it could be temporary or drizzle, this time it was with the body of a Cyclops with its neck twisted.

Ludwig ...: How I love her! just like that time in that poem after the rain everything seemed beautifully damp, very still, very decisive of harmonious peacefulness. Yes, after it rained, everything is more beautiful ...! He gets out of the taxi, after walking down the sidewalk and feeling the water on his shoulders, he enters a restaurant. In these days of light legs and impetuous silence, he saw how he treasured his gifts on his behalf. The rainy night was majestic and close to a resurrection. Millions and millions of icy drops and Ludwig drank the hot coffee, with thousands of thoughts all alluding to the wonderful watery element. He wanted everything, that is, what surrounded him made him want more, although the distrustful mania, did not let it open Totally, like those sleepless nights, of not being able to reconcile posture and sleep. This night that blackened like ink, made him think about that rock and what would come out of it, maybe everything would be solved with a hammer or a chisel, or that a lightning bolt would transform it. He also prowled Antonieta, Fernando, Debra, Sara smiling, Roberto with his rag, and Víctor with his shyness. He imagined his parents in youth who left them the gift of today to transmit what they lived while alive. He also thought that he was normalizing himself and that he had Antonieta very close to supporting him. In the thought of long analysis of him, he could see how the world has taught him to love and respect, and those things with beating hearts caused the greatest breakdown, the greatest erosion, that which has been abandoned and inactive. So the earthquakes, so the wars, so brotherly hatred, and self-consciousness and let us return to our primitive existence, retreating to humility. Whether it is out of love or envy, destruction marks us, whether it is because of the lust for power, isolation, and whatever remains to happen. He takes the second coffee and goes out to wander without knowing where ...? Walk and walk, pass near the Aula Magna, keep walking until you reach the end of the road, where there is no cement, only the accompanying earth that was coughing from a cold, which assimilated the minerals where death could wait for him and cut his throat, or he would simply walk away. long steps through the countryside. As he traveled the surroundings, along rural roads, when he passed some houses with canopy lights, he saw how they inhabited their houses seeing the smoke in the chimneys. After a long walk, he approaches the escarpment, when he sees that someone was coming to meet him, it was a fisherman who came with his fishing device at a slow pace. And so it happened, the man of the sea only pierced like a dark bolide.

Ludwig comments how strange he was, he seemed an enigmatic being and not a fisherman. Maybe he's a caretaker or an Augur. It was incredible how he was wet, it was necessary to get indoors. With no other alternative, he descends the gorge until he reaches the beach, which now seemed all sea all water, beyond the limit. Now this space seemed alien to him. But what may seem uncomfortable, it was a vital necessity, that he wanted to be alone in his house. Ludwig wanted more than ever to feel the experience. He needed his body to rest, and he wanted to relax, forever he wanted a surprise, and he just appeared done star then another and another, until it clears and the rain stops. Ludwig is amazed at having come so far, looks for some dry branches, and sets fire. He puts the coat to dry and sleeps like an angel, before falling asleep he begins to remember ...: The stone ...?, He crossed himself with his numb hand and wrapped himself in his arms. The wind blew softly, carrying and bringing various aromas, until the sleeping voices with their gnats say good night ...: “Me Ludwig, I will not speak very close to your ear, but I tell you that where you have arrived in our proscenium, is the high observing of the emotions felt and lived. And today you have done it allowing the push of your vague spirit, which pulls you, taking you wherever your spirit wishes, you only accept his opinion. Today dear Ludwig, the immortal issue is valid, and what you have reached is infinite ... "

The sleeping light is gone, along with the others that supported it. Ludwig closed his eyes and said goodbye to the sleeping voices, while his body floated in the warm air and his voices manifested gratefully from his friends. Around her, the wind carried and carried, carried and carried. In the morning she had a fever and looked like a real frosted corpse. It could be helpful if you took off your coat overnight and dried it. Still, the first beams of lights were enough to revive him and begin to wake him up. When he was warming up more, he got up and went back to the city, but this time he did not do it through the rural road, but rather went along the coastal beach, to the sea huts. He sometimes looked back to see where he was. In the sand he saw more than his footprints, he saw a penguin and a beached whale, he saw innumerable algae next to the white of the waves, he saw how the gulls carried minnows in their beaks and the sea lions dove. Beyond some dolphins danced in rounds, one another lined up as if they were children with playful youthful souls. Some with their pigtails beat the foam that would cut like globules of insipid foam. This time the wind brought from all sides, the ceiling was populated with little clouds, with cirrus clouds resembling the angry Oblong milk, and above all this air simulated being freshly made, it was breathable and stimulating. Those species thrown out of their own environment, would not return from their home, they would only be after the last effort to revive, but everything had remained that way. Everything was reduced to footprints and those of the whale was furrowed as if asking to have feet and get rid of the executioner. Over and over again he turned his head to see what distressed his feeling, but he couldn't do anything, even he knew that he was like them dying ... ”When above his face rotted without healing from leprosy, below his legs became thin. This is how death attacks, if not from the center, it destroys us on the other hand ... " And his continuous odyssey, at the top of the crown, he saw the summer cabins, indicating that his redoubt was close by. His house was approaching by leaps and bounds, he no longer wanted to look, or eat, only to gather his little strength to sleep.

When he arrived he did nothing but go to the humus to sleep. The road continued with himself and a long way traveled, without a doubt this path was the one he undertook without asking anyone. All that made him seek more in him, is the agitation of himself, nothing more than losing what has hurt him so much, society, sinister men, slave factories, and the cohabiting environment in general. His emigration is indefatigable, he goes where the misunderstanding has left him, but this time he is very refined without belligerence, only what he has collected from him, which as no one can pay the right to put aside all resentment and accept that we will always be subject to be squeezed like another object in between and people. Maybe, Ludwig, is the one who will each of us go to the link with humanitarian sentiments. How many times will you continue looking for something different, what gives an answer to the intrigue of being normal or wondering ... If we are part of normality ...? Our restlessness takes us very high, sometimes it is difficult for us to descend from the highest, of course, everything goes gradually because everything happens like this, but who takes care of the changes caused by ourselves ...? It was late when another of the sleeping voices made him soak her cornea, still with a sea breeze. Despite the autumn rain, it hadn't dampened the ground and the air temperature seemed to be springtime. In the afternoon he went for a walk nearby, until he reached the Abbey, the one he saw succumb in his dream, the one threatened by the deadly light.

When he entered he saw how the warm and thermal suns lodged in its walls. He saw how they remade the image of Christ and saw how everything in the neat incense, he sanctified. He contemplated how the face of the most sinful person was going to ask for mercy, being able to see that the venous Christian hand was forgiving. Here everything remains the same as Nazareth or Jerusalem because it accompanies very attached to the heart, not only the pious but the well-affectionate. I know that he will not disappoint me, I know that I cannot assure the believer of his Faith, that because of the silence that dwells here, what this sacred place claims to contain will continue to be unfathomable forever. To Christ himself, to the superiority that we all need to have.

Ludwig ...: Does everything seem so still ..., so static ...?, But at the same time you can see dynamism, like pilgrim logs in their pilgrimages, or in that common sob to all, to the need to regret the yearned for. When his smallness magnified him, making him more deified, but as a human that he was, nothing in the world. The pain in the face of suffering is the indecision of our Faith that irrevocably resembles the face of Jesus, which we need to represent the mortal pain common to all humans, called "Sons of the Lord".Of the consequences of the facts is the answer to the others, who wander uncertainly on the worldly path ambitioning the favorite and magical Sermon on the Mount. The feasibility of being relegated by a human being is nothing more than a trifle, it is nothing more than being disoriented. Therefore, everything that comes from another it is nothing more than an abandoned wind. His attitude towards others always dies, when he could not cling to another creed or has been dependent on religious neutrality.