- but try and tell that to the lordling.

"Two ears, three toes, and the little finger off my left hand. I got off light. We found my brother frozen at his watch, with a smile on his face."

A Song Of Fire And Ice

After defeating a dumb iron pelted werewolf without taking a sweat, he found himself facing the Blue Fire. Its flames danced shyly, as if they were afraid of vanishing by the Red Ice's touch that gazed threateningly from the room's cold walls. Not even slightly confused nor affected in any way by the bizarre situation, he just took an empty bottle and filled it up with the fire. Right afterwards, and still with his "I'm totally serious about this" unexpressive face on, without giving a single fuck about the incongruences, he throws the turquoise and hot content to a fat silly-looking Pop-Eyed Goldfish fishmen, who, blowminded, stares at him with eyes even more popped out than usual, and simply says "Thanks".

Nadal, regal superficial (rima)

   puta merda de món globalitzat

        i mal globalitzat

        que ens tenen collats i esclavitzats

        no només per a què consumim

        i què ho fem en alta mesura
     
        no.

        ja no és què ens dictin què hem de consumir

        ara també el COM?

        i l'ON?

        posar fronteres al seu propi "lliure mercat"?

        variar preus en funció de la nacionalitat?

        em pensava que només passava amb els videojocs, tot allò del PAL i NTSC

        però no

        amb les figuretes també

        no

        no puc comprar una puta xorrada de 6 euros que mola molt i és la il·lusió de la meva vida a una botiga on-line japonesa

        no

        m'haig d'esperar anys a que la venguin als EUA o amb molta sort a Europa/Espanya

        per poder pagar uns 40 euros
   
    Gràcies món.

Well, what about Eleanor?

He had halted, and seemed loth to ride into the stream; and they noted that for a while his eyes appeared not to see them or things about him. All that day he was silent.
'Are you in pain, Will?' said Lyra quietly as she rode by his side.
'Well, yes I am,' said Will. 'It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.'
He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away.
'I am wounded', he continued, 'wounded; it will never really heal.'
'Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,' said Lyra.
'I fear it may be so with mine,' said Will. 'There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?'
Lyra did not answer.
But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the next day. It was not until afterwards that they recalled that the date was December the twenty-third.

Forgotten the name to forsake

 

Self-threating memories, acting like wounded wounds that don't even feel like healing despite their show off -alwalys under the sunlight- of their so called anb boasted high-endurance. But of course, they're nothing but scared puppies that secretly wish to become mystical cats. Hell, they'd rather become numb cockroaches than accept their growth into that good ol' reliable wolfie rol!
Can't really blame them for choosing a live in dysphoria, though. And even if there's no one else to put the blame on, I still wish for someone to step up and bring and end to the circle of pain and hatred, selflessly aiding in their emergent potential's recovery. Someone who actually cares for them.
Yours sincerely, my deepest and honest apologies. I shall hope for the one descendant that will carry on my promise and Joy.

Cap al Sol

"Whether we wound or are wounded, the blood that flows is red. You can't even call it a path, so feeble and narrow is that tube. The prejudices that cause people to fear each other, the battle over blood... They can be slipped through so easily. Much clearer than some illusion from a pipe dream, I can see the continuing path toward's the sun."

______________________

"To wound... or to be wounded, red blood flows.

Whatever path can't be said... so narrow, that tube.

The fear from prejudiced views... the blood that washes blood from battle... so easily flow out 

More than painted illusions from a pipe dream,

Surely can be seen, the continuing path toward the Sun" 

Calaix de Sapastre (I)

11/7/2011: No hi ha manera. L'he perdut. Busco i regiro dins meu, registro i reordeno i torno a iniciar la recerca entre l'oceà sense fons dels sentiments, records i pensaments, però no hi és per enlloc. Reobro velles cicatrius i tiro sal a ferides que encara han de sanar, tot desitjant trobar-hi la senyal que destapi el vel de la incertesa, la pista subtil que de sobte es fa evident i, malgrat deixar en ridícul la ceguesa anterior, justifica i dóna sentit a la recerca. Però res, no hi ha res. No hi ha manera. No trobo la inspiració, ni em trobo a mi mateix.