tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8015851351027639182024-03-18T21:36:12.030-07:00My Life in PicturesAnoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-54694439331039395642011-02-10T09:07:00.000-08:002011-02-10T09:11:32.461-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BOCTe1w37i0/TVQcEdC98TI/AAAAAAAAAFw/5SzddKSF1Ig/s1600/IMG_1917_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BOCTe1w37i0/TVQcEdC98TI/AAAAAAAAAFw/5SzddKSF1Ig/s320/IMG_1917_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572109501806276914" border="0" /></a>You don't know me, and you never hold me<br />like your little piece on the side.<br /><br />Inside out and outside in<br />you bring eyesight to the blind. <br /></div>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-36227468671610476872010-12-29T11:27:00.000-08:002010-12-29T11:39:29.097-08:00whisper....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TRuOa_B_x3I/AAAAAAAAAFc/re4EG-WHXo8/s1600/ojoagain3_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TRuOa_B_x3I/AAAAAAAAAFc/re4EG-WHXo8/s320/ojoagain3_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556191159539189618" border="0" /></a><br />Boy so hard<br />But I know a girl<br />Twice as hardAnoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-6846012808193632872010-12-14T16:38:00.000-08:002010-12-14T16:42:28.736-08:00"Narcissus"Dear momma's boy I know you've had your butt licked by your mother<br />I know you've enjoyed all that attention from her<br />And every woman graced with your presence after<br />Dear narcissus boy I know you've never really apologized for anything<br />I know you've never really taken responsibility<br />I know you've never really listened to a woman<br /><br />Dear me-show boy I know you're not really into conflict resolution<br />Or seeing both sides of every equation<br />Or having an uninterrupted conversation<br /><br />And any talk of healthiness<br />And any talk of connectedness<br />And any talk of resolving this<br />Leaves you running for the door<br /><br />(why why do I try to love you<br />Try to love you when you really don't want me<br />To)<br /><br />Dear egotist boy you've never really had to suffer any consequence<br />You've never stayed with anyone longer than ten minutes<br />You'd never understand anyone showing resistance<br />Dear popular boy I know you're used to getting everything so easily<br />A stranger to the concept of reciprocity<br />People honor boys like you in this society<br /><br />And any talk of selflessness<br />And any talk of working at this<br />And any talk of being of service<br />Leaves you running for the door<br /><br />(why why do I try to help you try to help you<br />When you really don't want me to)<br /><br />You go back to the women who will dance the dance<br />You go back to your friends who will lick your ass<br />You go back to ignoring all the rest of us<br />You go back to the center of your universe<br /><br />Dear self centered boy I don't know why I still feel affected by you<br />I've never lasted very long with someone like you<br />I never did although I have to admit I wanted to<br />Dear magnetic boy you've never been with anyone who doesn't take your shit<br />You've never been with anyone who's dared to call you on it<br />I wonder how you'd be if someone were to call you on it<br /><br />And any talk of willingness<br />And any talk of both feet in<br />And any talk of commitment<br />Leaves you running for the door<br /><br />(why why do I try to change you try to<br />Try to change you when you really don't<br />Want me to)<br /><br />You go back to the women who will dance the dance<br />You go back to your friends who will lick your ass<br />You go back to being so oblivious<br />You go back to the center of the universe<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />PD: I bet you think this song is about you...well, it's not, so I'm sorry for your ego ^^ A friend asked me for the lyrics.Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-54454635846662152902010-12-06T17:53:00.000-08:002010-12-06T18:08:16.795-08:00Caja de música<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP2UzZyso_I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Kdq2Aaz9iLE/s1600/Imagentt%2B077_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP2UzZyso_I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Kdq2Aaz9iLE/s320/Imagentt%2B077_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547753926808085490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Cuando estoy triste </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">elijo mi cajita de música </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">no lo hago para nadie </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">sólo porque me gusta </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Hay quien escribe cartas, </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">quien sale a ver la luna </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">para olvidar yo elijo </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">mi cajita de música </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Amarga es la madera </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">de palo santo </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">pero es como el amor </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">que no muere y perfuma </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Cuando estoy triste </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">elijo mi cajita de música </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">pero te vas y vuelves </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">no he de acabarla nunca </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Te espero mi tristeza </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">huele a ti y es menuda </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">tengo las manos verdes </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">esta noche de lluvia </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Cuando estoy triste </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">elijo mi cajita de música </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">no lo hago para nadie </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">sólo porque me gusta</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-81980963204475404562010-12-06T08:28:00.000-08:002010-12-06T08:38:50.986-08:00I Pagliacci - Opera by Ruggiero Leoncavallo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP0PvuUZ1ZI/AAAAAAAAAE4/peDIoCNF70Y/s1600/1_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP0PvuUZ1ZI/AAAAAAAAAE4/peDIoCNF70Y/s320/1_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547607628552197522" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP0PvzEbarI/AAAAAAAAAFA/Gc4CcukS4So/s1600/7_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP0PvzEbarI/AAAAAAAAAFA/Gc4CcukS4So/s320/7_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547607629827369650" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP0PwMa5xeI/AAAAAAAAAFI/HbbH3IHxXu4/s1600/8_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TP0PwMa5xeI/AAAAAAAAAFI/HbbH3IHxXu4/s320/8_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547607636632520162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,Geneva,Swiss,SunSans-Regular;" >"La commedia e finita"</span><br /><br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOpsjY3pM1E<br /></div>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-79722007531178006322010-11-29T16:39:00.000-08:002010-11-29T16:45:31.649-08:00Thinking of you<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TPRIsYesLSI/AAAAAAAAAEw/VWYe22or3Ug/s1600/IMG_8458_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TPRIsYesLSI/AAAAAAAAAEw/VWYe22or3Ug/s320/IMG_8458_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545136968522542370" border="0" /></a><br />"Lying all alone and restless<br />unable to lose this image<br />sleepless, unable to focus on<br />anything but your surrender..."<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJWM52RS7CgAnoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-72604152617509792182010-11-23T14:38:00.000-08:002010-11-23T14:42:36.209-08:00TRUTH<b style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Jessep:</b><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:arial;" > You want answers?</span><br /><b style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Kaffee:</b><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:arial;" > I want the truth!</span><br /><b style="font-family: arial;">Jessep:</b><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >You can't handle the truth</span><span style="font-family:arial;">!<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"> Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives...</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" > We use words like honor, code, loyalty...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. You use 'em as a punchline.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" > have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!</span></span>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-15812101277917424622010-11-16T17:05:00.001-08:002010-11-16T17:43:31.384-08:00honestidad<p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><b><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></b></p> <p style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"> </div><p style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">"A la hora de la verdad, que es la de buscarse a sí mismo en lo objetivo, uno olvida todo y se dispone a no ser fiel más que a su propia sinceridad. "<b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><b>Gerardo Diego</b></span></p>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-43440033038079400612010-11-15T18:16:00.000-08:002010-11-15T18:25:23.761-08:00My Best Friend<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSVMWCaWxaoqF5bYU1_gA4F7m2oDFCwgHCyqggKDmMhZ7ReG7qvYMtfV-HewhHISp-gChSqcoMoMKTa2Fkm-kqaIo-846L6UY8-MVMH58D-hSoIvsdJg3_PYSLZKd38Sx6QenxsiR7KE/s1600/IMG_8158_resize.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSVMWCaWxaoqF5bYU1_gA4F7m2oDFCwgHCyqggKDmMhZ7ReG7qvYMtfV-HewhHISp-gChSqcoMoMKTa2Fkm-kqaIo-846L6UY8-MVMH58D-hSoIvsdJg3_PYSLZKd38Sx6QenxsiR7KE/s320/IMG_8158_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539967632060190322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TOHq9ZP03WI/AAAAAAAAAEg/qkszChHmgKA/s1600/tumblr_kvjsniFpRn1qzyrwvo1_500.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TOHq9ZP03WI/AAAAAAAAAEg/qkszChHmgKA/s320/tumblr_kvjsniFpRn1qzyrwvo1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539967357112606050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Maggie<br /><br /><br />puro amor, ciclotimia y bipolaridad en 45 cm de altura.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(No one will ever be as important as she is for me. Deal with it.)</span><br /><br /><br /></div>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-81234984844781629542010-11-11T16:35:00.000-08:002010-11-29T16:44:55.705-08:00Nubes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TNyMKNMTT0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/-7BnhZN3zY0/s1600/collage_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TNyMKNMTT0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/-7BnhZN3zY0/s320/collage_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538455748726705986" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><br />Si confias en mi, es probable que pueda alcanzar el cielo.<br /></div>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-48279812111096984762010-11-10T15:52:00.001-08:002010-11-10T16:25:28.299-08:00Dia dos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TNsyp92PZ9I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/9INadG-X5OY/s1600/10_resize.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bHRLBW-whcI/TNsyp92PZ9I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/9INadG-X5OY/s320/10_resize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538075863340246994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">....y un despiadado pais de las maravillas</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;" >"Prefiero molestar con la verdad que complacer con adulaciones"<br />Lucio Anneo Séneca</span><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"><br /></div></blockquote></div><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"></span>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-801585135102763918.post-9235476503648418962010-11-09T19:17:00.000-08:002010-11-09T20:19:02.537-08:00Todo lo que soy<span style="font-family:georgia;">O todo lo que no.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Las personas hablan. Pueden hablar sobre quien soy y quien no soy, pero no estan hablando de mi. Suelo decir "con que se haga referencia a mi persona, no es suficiente para que necesariamente se este hablando de mi". </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Entonces, estas afirmaciones me causan gracia. Cuando son agresivos o intentan dañarme logran hacerme sentir triste un rato, pero sobre todas las cosas, me dan ganas de reir. Entre las cosas mas graciosas que me han pasado de la vida, esta el recibir un mensaje privado de un facebook falso insultandome y diciendome "Vos no sos una buena persona". A esta persona (que hasta el dia de hoy desconozco su identidad) le pregunte, "¿Sabes mi nombre?" y me contesto que no, que no tenia idea de quien era ni cual era mi nombre.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Menudo coraje hay que tener para esconderse tras una identidad falsa para hacer semejante afirmacion a alguien que no sabes ni quien es. Esa es una de las tantas contradicciones que las personas tienen. Esa defensa de "causas justas" desde la cobardia y la maldad. Y no comprendo como se puede tener una guerra entre dos completos desconocidos. Pero ese ya es su problema.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:georgia;" >SOS PORQUE YO DIGO QUE LO SOS Y SOS LO QUE YO AFIRMO QUE SOS</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Me quede con ganas de pedirle que me diga quien soy, dado que ni yo tengo la respuesta absoluta a esa pregunta.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">¿Quien</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:georgia;" > SOY</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">? o mejor dicho, ¿Cual de todas las que soy </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:georgia;" >ES</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">? ¿Todas </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:georgia;" >SOMOS</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Mi nombre significa agua. Y el agua tiene la capacidad de cambiar de estado. Cuando sos yo, la forma de tu cuerpo y el reconocerte dentro del mismo se vuelve algo extraño. Pero mas adelante hablare de ello. Siempre hay mas adelante. Siempre queda algo para contar.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >So familiar and overwhelmingly warm, this one, this form I hold now.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > Embracing you, this reality here, this one, this form I hold now, so wide eyed and hopeful.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > Wide eyed and hopefully wild.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >This body holding me, reminding me that I am not alone in</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > This body holding me, We are eternal, All this pain is an illusion.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Ocho años, mil seres, mil ciclopes imaginarios que eran mis amigos y parte de mi.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Veintidos años, sin ciclopes, pero a veces no logro distinguir si vivo en el mundo real o en mi mente, ni cual de los dos mundos me interesa habitar. Los limites son debiles en cuanto a mi cordura.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Siento que viví 4 vidas hasta el momento.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Creo que padezco una seria bipolaridad entre TOOL y Hello Kitty. O quizas mis extremos convivan muy bien juntos. No me gustan los grises.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Y en el medio de todo, la fotografía.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Quiero mostrar como es mi mundo, quiero retratarlo para verlo fuera de mi cabeza.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:georgia;" >Todo en mis fotos se trata de mi. Fotografio desde la bulimia, no desde la creacion. Es mi vomito, mi sublimacion.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Vivo en mi propio mundo subrrealista. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Yume</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Traumend</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Sueños.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Vuelvo al principio, mi documento de identidad. Leo un nombre, un apellido que no me pertenece </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >(<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">A quien no le pertenezco. En el nombre del Padre. Siempre en el nombre del Padre. Todas las guerras del Mundo en el nombre del Padre</span>)</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">. Veo una foto. Un rostro. Mis ojos. Pero soy mas de lo que ella puede demostrar.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Entonces me miro al espejo, y me pregunto otra vez:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >¿Quien soy?</span>Anoukhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02426295044192947736noreply@blogger.com2