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O HOLY WEDNESDAY IN SEARCH OF MEMBERSHIP


The Lord's lemon

A shower of prayers

deafen the main door and Nazareno de San Pablo
out again in procession. Andrés Eloy Blanco


WEDNESDAY O HOLY

IN SEARCH OF MEMBERSHIP

born and living in a city determined not belong it. It takes a lot more, you have to experience, to travel in an effort to make our . Their stories, their beliefs, traditions, join them.
Whoever wants his city to be part of it, and it belongs completely, be aware of and limited to accommodate it so, you might have its shortcomings with the mind to even afford to enjoy them. Making their illnesses, the motive and reason for wanting to its perfection. Love even with its flaws buried wrapped in apathy or progress.
Religion is closely linked to each city through its monuments, churches, celebrations, festivities and even its rites with pagan tradition. Similarly the celebration of the patriotic days give a personal touch to every city and distinguished even within the same country.
To find within our scope of Caracas, a spiritual twist that leads us to experience a reflection that we check and we ate it closely, it is mystical exercises, wearing the skin of a Tibetan monk and set aside our environment eyes the misery and violence of every day. It is not easy.
prefer to use the catacombs of my memory and rescue from there the experience in my childhood years in the Basilica of Santa Teresa, located just three blocks from my house that was home for the first eleven years of my life. It is not back in search of paradise lost, but to connect with the traces of that something that allows us to separate us from sleepwalking daily.
The Basilica, with its double front, one dedicated to Santa Ana and the other who gives his name, contains in its interior from the time of the provincial Caracas the venerated image of the Nazareno de San Pablo. The sanctuary is a tradition attached to Caracas that still recurs fervor.
In the last Easter I returned on the forgotten steps and Holy Wednesday I was part, as I was required in those years, the renewal of faith celebrated there.
A debut Nazarene corduroy robe embroidered in gold thread, looked lively for the brightness and color that gave more than 5000 orchids placed arched their backs and loving to sleep on her figure moreno.Su pine face racked by the pain of a crown of thorns and the heavy cross resting on his left shoulder, I renewed in contemplation, the spiritual power loss during the years I preferred to trace wave or travel to other cities that offered me the rest of the chaos townsman .
altar lights, host distinguished guest to the side chapel for the rest of the year, not steamed up to the hundreds of candles can melt the indifference of devotees during the 364 days remaining. Days in which everyone turns in the outer world of struggle and work without leaving space for the voices of beloved reflection. That place where even nest faith and belief that we can and should be better people.
Although it is just an image, carved by an artist who received the divine breath at the time of its creation (due to the perfection with which it is executed), to present believers symbolizes the promise of redemption and atonement sins. His veneration entails the right path for favors and achieve forgiveness. It seems no matter what you did before or what you do after being there. At that time you bathe mercy and not let you fall. Not necessary but of Cyrene in your faith. That
liturgical rite gives character to our city , mark a break that leads to the pious ecstasy and pain in isolation. Miles are dressed in purple robes, walk in procession or get on your knees so to live, even from afar, the miraculous experience of seeing the size and receive the joy of spiritual renewal. This gives us license to forgive the blind fanaticism which confuses the rite, or the party with the burden of commercial trick on that special day.
The presence of hawkers with their bundles of candles, incense outsiders, holy cards with prayer that slip between those dedicated to Mary and black Lionza Miguel, not detract from the emotional and symbolic that the procession has tattooed for over 200 years . Di
a twist to my memory and I was 7 years old, dressed only once in the habit purple (a bit without knowing why), paying the promise made by my mother when I pass a double pneumonia. Miracles do happen.
Today I'm here and I give my testimony to faith and commitment that this return to dig in a tradition-rooted (which I have been a part), I can conclude Caracas itself mine. And I belong to it. I have no reason to doubt.

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Botero and I Thoughts on insomnia


The theme of beauty does not end, any consideration of it only opens the way to debate. Moreover, the subjectivity of beauty does not need verification. It is a truth we must accept and acknowledge that the earth rotates on itself and around the sun, but with that line then we should explain the reasons for this assumption.
is how the creator of an art object, whether painting, sculpture or any other manifestation of the art exercise its full sovereignty to create, without waiting el cuestionamiento de los posibles admiradores o detractores de ella. El artista no espera convencer a nadie con su creación, le basta con la satisfacción de verla terminada, de saberse un creador, y sólo apuesta a que la misma sea al menos perdurable o trascendente.
El ser humano como destinatario de la obra creativa, está siempre sujeto a su condición subjetiva de considerar, según su criterio y apreciación, si algo es o no hermoso. Con ello busca confrontar la creación artística con lo qué ella expresa y cómo lo expresa. Un antagonismo sin razón, ya que el acto mismo de la creación enciende de por sí las luces para la comprensión del objeto creado, más allá de lo que los ojos del observer capture in the works. Behind it an essence that is given by the author, his creative breath.
All these thoughts and considerations were a whirlwind one my head, but upon entering Fernando Botero Museum, located in Bogota, they took a course of placidity to works that broke with what until recently seemed to govern the fees what forms of the human figure could be considered classic beauty.
If it is true that in Renaissance painting and the stylized Botticelli virgin, contrasted with the figures filled with Rubens, the elongated forms of Modigliani, or deformed, almost skeletal from El Greco to modern times had not submitted a work as large and varied to follow the pattern of the round as a aesthetics, whatever the object painted, drawn or carved.
A museum entrance we received a huge hand that already makes it clear that this is a concept of beauty that is unparalleled. In successive rooms are drawn or sculpted women, men, horses, cats, other animals, objects. All under the reign of roundness, the exaggeration in the pursuit of the curves, a symphony sung from deep with the severity of a requiem for all that it resembles stylized.
On entering one room became my joy complacency bordering on insanity. There she was, and particular version of the genius of Botero Nude Maja, with its huge belly shamelessly displaying stored fat, your breasts are two brackets, divided by a line, as if it has drawn a huge B lying. Sinuous hip like mountains emerge refused to stop sex just hinted, as a spot to carelessness. Oranges, very round off the pestle. She lying across the width of the bed wearing a tuft upholstery, and the half smile that seems to think if you eat or not.
The view and appreciation of the brilliant work broke all negative paradigms could not hold against the beauty of obesity and fatness. Look at those curves scattered without to miss the aesthetic sense led me to believe there was a total independence between what for some is beautiful and the work created. Nobody in their right mind would deny that the view of those meat displayed in all its immensity, were not a gift for good taste, without prejudice to the antipode which may mean changing the model of ideal beauty.
A creative sensitivity Botero also gives an added value, so it meant overturning values \u200b\u200bthought to be universal, and give them a twist, it looks to create this revolutionary new, original and with his own style.
Personally, I swelled with pride. No longer had to resort to cliché and tired of inner beauty to be satisfied with the figure itself, was now visible and reliable endorsement from all his work admired, respected and important of Fernando Botero. Gone are the disciples
Osmel in his mad race for a crown eating only tuna and lettuce. In less than an hour, this universal Colombian gave me the passport to happiness. It is no longer a matter of settling on a situation, although it may change, requires the sacrifice and perseverance, the temporality of life leads us to believe at times, it lacks the merit to undertake the new course.
Upon leaving there as he leaves the temple in which he has atoned for the sins me a glass door back reflection of my image and a thought crossed my mind: Thank Botero.

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Ask me questions does not solve my problems. We must find answers. Beseech

benevolence or compassion for its own failings, involves admitting one's weaknesses, but these must obtain our internal forgiveness.

reflection requires me to find fault settled only in my actions lead me to utter just whip my self-esteem. This would be the surest way to embrace the depression.

Nowhere is it more bluntly, the only valid thread to be woven is what leads to the internal improvement.

Full knowledge of our weaknesses and strengths will lead to understanding of justice and balance for ourselves, our trips and falls.

feel that the past is tied to nostalgia for better times, is not betting for the present that is in our hands which we can change.

Without getting into discussions about the thin line that separates the temporality of past, present and future, he should now be imposed when developing remediation plan to disrupt any adverse situations.

faith and confidence in ourselves, not a sign of presumption, but have reached improvement.

Hear your inner self with caution when I sense is being complacent about your mistakes.

Brownie Patch Placement Back

a journey the last day he disputed the soccer World Cup final and at the same time add that this was happening thousands of miles Maiquetía airport, we ordered the flight 5000 Conviasa out with almost an hour late. At least that's what we thought the 170 passengers who were waiting for the time fly to Buenos Aires on 11 July 2010, seeing as consumed part of the first time in the match between Spain and Germany.
Our arrival at 1 and 30 am (ET Argentina) the next day of our departure had deprived us not knowing the outcome of the anticipated game. The captain of the ship through periodic messages we were hearing about every goal and that was the end result.
Since 2007, I was reunited with the famous obelisk on the Avenida July 19, now with an average temperature of 5 º C, one hand full of protesters against the law in those moments was being debated in Congress and promising sex marriage, and the other of those who sought the signatures of support for this project. In short and after a long debate for three days, which was accompanied by wakefulness National Congress against gays, lesbians, transsexuals and other related, what gave these places a colorful unusual, Law 26618 was passed, enshrining the possibility of marriage between same sex.
On this trip we found that despite the economic crisis, the nightlife of Buenos Aires is full of different alternatives. Opportunity to take advantage of the theater by attending two works: Witches, revival in Buenos Aires, after serving more than 20 seasons in the city of Mar de Plata, and with the special still have their original cast, except for the late actress Susana Campos and August., with the master Norma Aleandro, on his characterization of the matriarch and grandmother of the dysfunctional family, who for three hours nearly continuous, shines with its powerful performance.
The wide range of cuisine from other sites led us something to eat to Puerto Madero, where the recommendation of the writer Federico Vegas we enjoyed a well-prepared steak in the cabin of the lilac, with a well-care and excellent service account in accordance with astronomical . A delight for the palate and a whip for the pocket without official dollars. La Cabrera, with its endless waiting lists, then matched the excellence of its meat, Mafia, Italian food and atmosphere with an exquisite wine Gran Reserve Finca La Linda, El Museo del Jamon, in full July 19, with English atmosphere as well as Plaza Mayor. In each of them found that the rations are to be enormous and that none come to the mandatory 10% added to the account, as often happens in our country. An alternative is to give it or not in the hands of satisfied customers.
Tours of Corrientes, Córdoba shopping area, the Galerias Pacifico shopping center, Paseo Alcorta, Solar de la Abadia, Alto Palermo, Bulbrich Patio Supplies and could not miss the visit, to the delight of the eyes and mortification wallets. How sad to see how our currency is devalued
The city does not look to big changes. They are few buildings new or in progress, but looks reasonably well maintained. Despite the number of walkers with pets, traffic on main roads and vehicular pollution, or unkind and braggart in general has the Buenos Aires, the city looks like a place to walk, or wander the streets congested. It's almost an obligation to enter talks on its many coffee shops or cafes, where scores of people make their tables for hours in these places, for the sole consumption of coffee and open daily at his side. Buenos Aires
with European flair, their facades and buildings that reflect the past glories of a once thriving economy and progressive spirit leaves us open to explore with confidence the streets full of shops without the anguish of the potential threat around every corner. Late at night the city has its own life and almost certain to find a taxi anywhere us to enjoy the generous array of shows, shows, dance halls, theaters. Multiple libraries, exhibition halls, museums and galleries. Everything for the sybaritic pleasure of the body and soul.
A capital that is not limited to the memory of the greatest exponent of the Tango: Carlos Gardel, or coffee with their regular attendees Tortoni García Lorca and Alfonsina Storni, that goes beyond its five subway lines, as they call the metro their neighborhoods like Recoleta, a full time the genuine aristocracy and today have been democratized to the point where today its luxury apartments are rented to tourists for days or weeks all inclusive. With his show on Sunday in San Telmo Square attracts curious collectors or fans of antiques or rare items. However
as big city with about 3,058,000 inhabitants, is not immune to poverty, neglect in some areas with broken sidewalks or trash it takes to be collected. Are lesser evils in a city that extends beyond what is Buenos Aires itself, which leads to the Tigre, 30 km in the delta of the Parana to San Isidro, north of the city to 16 Km, the bank of the River Plate.
A city that offers everything we love and think this makes us want to return. Return insurance.

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Travel south tide of oblivion


memory strikes me as weak and imperfect. Just remember not to adorn some details banalities or fantasy that we have forgotten. Sometimes we put in our memory without virtues of our memories and with them we unreality that are closer to a dream of what we would have been the experience. The lack of a memory leads us to imagine, with the sweetness of compassion for ourselves, forget it existed but in an idealized manner.
For nearly seven years had not returned to what was my place of work for a decade. For me it was usual to get there from nine o'clock in the morning and stay until late afternoon on the campus of Central Park. Had a wide officiate in the building Moher overlooking the inner courtyard that separates part of the huge towers and everything you could need was at my fingertips. For that time had its headquarters there about 10 banks, post office, plenty of restaurants to enjoy a gastronomic offer and envy any boulevard or mall. Pharmacy services, shops, hairdressers, bakeries, markets, carpet cleaning, printing presses, theaters, bookstores, art stores and the wonderful Museum of Contemporary Art Sofia Imber. I felt that everything was close, without the fear of rain or need to take some means of transportation for finding it.
The impact I suffered on this ride forced to walk the corridors could not be betraying my memory. From all that I remembered a sweet, there was only the awareness that no product could be wishful thinking or an oversight. It was a somber reunion gave me nausea. Laziness hit me with a sound whipping, as you would a rider in a final race.
I looked to do a test on my memories, I dressed in the costume of disbelief to find at some crack something that resembled what for me still had the aura of a pleasant place, where I worked, enjoyed, made friends and even found love. Where was all that gave me encouragement for daily work? What did the usual characters that gave color and warmth to the corridors? The ice cream vendor always smiling, the lottery was making sure that luck for whom the look. Now all absent.
An empty stage after a show does not compare to the impression that I got the closed premises, lack of life seen in these areas, before plethoric people, business, prosperity. The architectural monster so its huge towers, the population still lives there, she works in the forgotten public offices without air conditioning, living with the remains of a tower that remains upright but broken in her womb, is mortally wounded. The colossus that was from every pore, now lives in a perpetual vigil. Not my memory, but every day is bent like a reed, which has a site and now idealized and unfold again to find that the fabric is corroded. How do we face
back to what once was the customarily pleasant?
How to avoid the pain that seems hopelessly lost?
Many things return to our lives, experiences, emotions, experiences. We may never know exactly how to return it. The certainty of such ignorance, but leaves no room for melancholy. My memories everyday
Central Park no longer belong to me, crossed the realm of the improbable and now form part of a past that seems foreign. Now there is instead an empty interior coated horror. A trip to the dismay of a train with no stops, where he was immediately run away and move on.
Reason dictates to me that what was once for me than usual was condemned and silenced forever.

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The answering machine lets out his message with a voice indefinable accent between Argentina and Uruguay: Our business hours are from 9 to 12 noon and from 2 to 6 pm .... We do not date. Reach out to the building ... The voice continued signs of direction and ended with a friendly: We are here to serve .
Once at the site over the door hung a sign that defied any insecurity or fear of crime: Ring the bell to be addressed.
The order was carried out and the door opened revealing a woman thirties, good-looking, wearing pants below the navel that cried out for help to not suffer the risk of falling.
The waiting room of less than 15 m2, illuminated by artificial light on full restriction, had six chairs lined front of a TV 19 "these days invariably broadcast a football game, this time for Argentina against Greece. The only seat available at time was to have visited a weaver, his filling out the edges as languages \u200b\u200bof cotton mock the present. On one wall a poster of Botero showed one of its recognized overweight, a cigarette in one hand and the other received a left hand edge of the table a wad of cash. And that was a bad feeling, like the other poster of a Hindu goddess whose alleged squinting eyes were torn between watching the TV or a young man with curly hair and glasses to John Lennon, who like the other four, waited anxiously. Not sure whether to be served by the visionary or the result of the match to be held at the other end of the world. Two doors visible from the room were closed and through one of them heard a music of bells and voices in vocal polyphony intended to give the room a fictional air meditation. On the coffee table, three figures dominated the scene a smiling golden Buddha, a tray with petals of roses were once a sign and stressed on the one hand not smoke, and the other the propaganda of a garage. In nearly forty-five minutes (what did the game in his first time), nobody was called pass through the corridor leading to the exam room. The magazines were in disarray on the side of the chair ill, were only copies of prints or All deciduous Sunday. Nothing to read.
Finally the rear left a woman in uniform ministerial went straight where the thirties, 50 Bs placed in a glass bowl with a half smile and said you soon.
"Bring in the next announced - without any enthusiasm, the owner of the pants acrobats.
- How long does it take to meet me? - Was heard to ask a brunette teen, but already pregnant.
"At this rate will be about two hours, is that today we knew that was not come so many people.
Given that the seer could not provide that detail, the expectant mother and I decided to retire after her. Security would be more interesting than I could say as we lowered the eight floors without elevator, which would be in the waiting room.

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heroes who left us Legacy of the People Love Rings


On Thursday 17 June was the date set for the monthly meeting of the Vision Group. This time the guest Ana Teresa Torres let us know more of what we had read with keen interest in his book THE INHERITANCE OF THE TRIBE - The Myth of Independence of the Bolivarian Revolution.
When the friend asked me did Nora Bustamante the presentation of that book, my first thought was that with the extensive work of the author compiled more than thirteen books published, their deserved awards such as the Municipal Prize for Fiction and winner of the National Council of Culture, for his work The exile of time, Mariano Picon Salas Award and the Pegasus Prize for Doña Inés against forgetting, as well as individual occupying seat of honor of the Academy of National Language, and his recent honorary doctorate awarded by the Universidad Catolica Cecilio Acosta of Zulia, was not going to be easy to compress into a few lines your resume. Besides that his contributions to the national press and magazines give us the enormous creative flow that the author lavishes, as long research conducted for us in each of his works this particular vision of meeting the individual and their history.
Regarding the comment book, opened to the participants a fruitful debate, tinged with the accurate word of the author. So we know that what led to the writing of THE INHERITANCE OF THE TRIBE, was television. She as any Venezuelan or resident in this country has seen, or rather suffered long chains presidential and look through them as the sole interlocutor speech has rescued, revived and cultivated the myth of independence, had thought be taken to the writing and analysis. Not that Chavez had invented, but it has strengthened and endorsed. The liberator has been brought to the sacred altars and his hero par excellence has been set. We are the sons of the Fatherland, the inheritors of these glorious and as such must comply with unfinished dreams of the Father. Let me copy here
expert opinion of the historian Elias Pino Iturrieta who says that (quote) "In the inheritance of the Tribe, Ana Teresa Torres is not writing a history book, but a reflection whose foundation is located in a historiographical support allows conclusions worthy of attention. Nor is it meant the description of recent texts of sociology, political science, psychology, social, artistic research and the chronic situation, but includes the bulk of their contributions to link what historians might think about the birth of the republic to the present analysis have not stopped moving opinion from a qualified field of receivers. "
There is no doubt that the allegations of the author, who openly declares that no historian, no psychologist or sociologist, nor a political scientist, are plagued by thoughts that amalgamate each of these specialties and we realize extensive work research and commitment to the reality of the country. Following
the meeting and the question of what was left of you in the history of the People?
His answer after a few minutes of meditation, accompanied by a gesture of despair guessed, was short and terse, but also determining
-lot ... a lot.
The nostalgia for all that we are losing the certainty that recover from years of neglect plagued by a political speech that each day we were away and the difference between the ones and others, the verbiage that surrounds us from the illusion and deception , all made the pose silence at times in each of the attendees. Fortunately
and to complete the success of our meeting, hospitality Pity our host and delicious Troconis suck with which he gave us, comforted us and gave courage to face the dark days still remain. The days to come when the tribe warrior caste kick back and break chains. Ana Teresa
Thanks for giving us such fascinating reading and give us the necessary starting point for reflection.

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We are surrounded by things that can be utilitarian, decorative single, ugly or beautiful. Old objects, newly purchased, hated, that give us satisfaction, to help us. They become happy, or sadden us. In short any adjective may be added insurance that fits you one of them. However, very few of the things around us or we carry have implied a love story or endure over time related to events that are memorable and timeless.
Rodolfo In January 1939, a maracucho and confirmed bachelor, born with the century, succumbed to the easy smile and contagious joy of Susana and offered as proof of what was to be his eternal love: an engagement ring. It was made with gold from the mines of El Callao and she just was separated from his ring, thirty-five years later, at the time of his death. True to the promise he made in the Church of San Juan and met Rodolfo true devotion for all los años que la sobrevivió, quedó el compañero de ese anillo, luciendo su constancia anudado al recuerdo de la esposa ausente. En 1985 a la muerte de Rodolfo se reencontraron los aros en un estuche azul. Ya el tiempo y su continuado uso habían desvanecido las inscripciones internas de los apelativos cariñosos con el que solían llamarse mis padres y primitivos dueños: Susy y Rody, pero sabía que ese mismo tiempo no había podido borrar el legado de un amor que no conoció el olvido.
Ocasionalmente el estuche era abierto y la fantasía volaba en mi imaginación. Quizás los dos aros al estar juntos de nuevo recordaban las fatigas y los momentos de lucha. O por el contrario acunaban a alguno de los cinco hijos de the couple. Them in their hands made me long for the arrival of a love that exceeds the limit of time, which extended for many years but the couple remain fractured by death.
In 1990 came the moment of release from confinement rings inside the blue box. This time the words love and promise were not such as swearing in a church, but written and signed before men. It has been almost 20 years but now rings are engraved on the faded names two new: Ileana and Gustavo, I still look like reeds planted on the banks of a river whose flow brings the sound of the words of love always heard, clean and huge, coming from my parents.

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'RE NO HEROES LOOSE


Friday, June 4, 1 and 30 pm The threat of rain had dissipated and humidity combined with a soft warmth invaded the open spaces surrounding the ancient Church of the Holy Trinity, converted by decree President Guzman Blanco National Cemetery since 1874, to house a shrine as heroes, heroes and the greatest in our history.
A bust of His Majesty Charles III reminds us something unusual tribute from one of the three adjacent squares, which was the creator of the Captaincy General of Venezuela. The roots of our English past in contrast to the pride of the glories won by the outstanding resting nearby. Another square
wider which archaic agora, with its now-empty stands and dozens of antlers with no flags waving, protects the nearby building with three naves and a small dome, painted a very pale pink, gray with white accents. Seen from the front
our pantheon is far from monumental, but the spirit is inflamed with the weight of history that is stored there. It is certain that there lie 143 to dust beings of either forged or otherwise constructed our history. Of them only 54 were civilians and to be more specific only 3 women.
The meeting of the door wide open to the promise of immortality is ascended by 19 steps of gray marble, flanked by 4 cauldrons of black marble. Before entering the vast central nave and the background you can see the altar and monument to the most illustrious guest: Simón José Antonio de la Santisima Trinidad Bolivar y Palacios, who is hanging on the ubiquitous worship and veneration.
To access this almost sacred site by typing the name and area of \u200b\u200borigin in a great book that accounts for the large number of visitors (over 500 Saturday and Sunday) that the dead and the heroes in this case are not left alone and if you have anyone to visit.
The footsteps do not resonate in large slabs of polished marble tiles arranged in geometric shapes and various colors, they become complicit in the silence of the figures that adorn the 12 monuments scattered in symmetry in each of the two aisles. It highlights two at the end of them as sentinels: On the right the cenotaph of Antonio José de Sucre and left the sculpture tribute to Francisco de Miranda. In both the coffins kept open only hope of recovering the remains of the heroes.
The altar is lit by 230 lights vast Baccarat crystal lamp. The light spreads across the ceiling grid in gold leaf and silver and throws you to the bronze urn over 3500 Kg of weight where the remains of so-called Father of the Nation. Justice and Freedom are two female figures cast in white marble we represent the ideals of Bolivar's unfinished dream.
The 17 paintings attached to the original vaulted ceiling painter Tito Salas gave them passage to rest him also in this site, as well as symbolically and rather controversial, as does the chief Guaicaipuro. Jesus
The guide told Barreto that weave stories about noises, footsteps and even an apparition, but unlike the raised by Ana Teresa Torres in his book "History of the People", that "the Venezuelan heroes do not rely on the National Pantheon, however loose. Jump his paintings and landing on the tarmac, dodging the cars are entered online, star in the press and television "... .. Those who are here, whether deserved or controversial stay in this room, abide by the restricted hours until 4 pm to be revered or showing off its grandeur; trapped in history, with the dream of visionaries, turned into myths.
At the exit to the right is a third place, near the National Library Building, chaired by the bust of the poet Omar Khayya and two children play. The largest strongly pursued in an unequal battle that saw the lowest preschool red shirt, emulating perhaps to the many fought by the Founding Fathers dormant for centuries.

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Thanks to chocolate ... o. .. blame the chocolate




PLEASURES ARE ALWAYS THE CRADLE OF SYMPATHY
CAMPOAMOR


My earliest memories I can fix in time the precious moment in which I started to taste and become a fan of him or vicious. Captivate or repugnant, chocolate and won his place in history and for many of us that pleasure is enough. However curiosity compels me to ask when such a combination of cocoa seed which after being processed and be of added cinnamon, vanilla, and some other species became a pleasure me?.
boxes of chocolate, sweets, or in the form of tablets, all seasoned with various ingredients such as nuts, nuts, grains, rice, raisins, filled with liquor, formed a kaleidoscope of flavors that accompanied me since my childhood and I still remains true as the butterflies to the lights or the child to the ball.
My body and my palate, has imported not know his story. If the chocolate was born with a game that dates back perhaps 1502 when the explorer Christopher Columbus on his fourth voyage to America landed in Guanaja Island (Isla de Pinos in what is now Honduras), and on his return to Spain offered it to the Catholic Kings is not relevant. I just took delight you and sometimes he even takes your breath and leads you to move with real joy for a temporary madness that is called chocolate. The celebration of lust begins to just watch and make reason and sanity to lose their right minds So simple.
That same god Quetzalcoatl in ancient times men have been the first seeds of cacao, only corroborates that is food and pleasure of the gods. We must surrender to His Majesty and their intake actually makes us more lively, sharp, waiting for the mixture is melted in the taste and we prodigue mild tingling.
The pleasure has been with us the first time, like a caress, begins the journey of the senses without shame or modesty. When Hernan Cortes discovered Mexico in 1519 and was offered by India's Marina ("Malinche") a cup of the drink called Xocalatl, was amazed and dared to describe with the words "baby when one can travel the whole day tirelessly and without having to eat. " The conqueror had been captured and cocoa beans would reign in European courts.
Chocolate gives us comfort when there are dark days. We are delighted when a gift from the beloved. No resistance to her fiance enjoyment. The body is weak and prudence flee. It bends the mind and falls in ecstasy, as if anticipating a well-deserved orgasm. There is no passion without delivery, although advises us to discern if we attach to it without hesitation, we set ourselves a limit. Do not want to resent the abuse our bodies and we are unable to find the remedy.
As every vice that makes us prey, I can not rebel even knowing that there may be collateral damage. It's like kite flying upward toward infinity without seeing the risk of the electrical network. However
fear the consequences. The fear is linked to vascular body. Guilt and fear stalks the effects stealthy as a ghost appears. Weak belief that their daily consumption may reduce heart risk is not sufficiently proven. There is an ongoing debate and experience persuades us not to follow the action when the multiplication of an error can lead to destruction.
The problem is that the bans do not work for medical orders. It is known that the pleasure of the forbidden or unattainable, far from being a wall that prevents us from transgressing it becomes a spur of addiction.
I know I sin to eat too much and hopefully reveal that I impose a mild penance and see in my confidence, not a belated repentance but a fair promise of change.
In conclusion, reveal in the truth openly. I set myself that part of the whole of what causes me pleasure, without being indiscreet, I think silence is not better than say without hindrance from our weaknesses. Who is wise and confesses his guilt becomes more prone to forgiveness rather than condemnation.
I can only thank the chocolate for the moments of delight in his company, but at the same time and without thereby committing the affront to smear, I have to say burning words which also has all the blame. If I confess a defect in disgrace, carried in the hips absolve me. I resign myself to think that I think easier to carry the weight of my slip-up to live without glory to taste the fruit of Theobroma cacao .

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Valentina and her 22 years


A VALENTINA

I got the scent of roses
felt the flight of a star
and I knew it was what I said
May with

air of spring and summer weather songs Flood

jays already
've lived flower unfolding
silk
childhood that has now become wide strength
painted with light of experience

remember how you were the girl
full moon and the time between yesterday and today
was filled with your fragrance


Your hair always wears plain suit your wide smile blossomed as foliage

lets your laughter that soothes the wind Dawn
to fit into the infinite comb your eyes open as


are something that cheers me
loneliness and healing sap becomes
What is the color and transparency of water wets my

shadows away the fog will
and serves as a shield for my troubles.

always present my beautiful granddaughter
live your dreams, do not stop my heart
rush hurt even hear your heavenly beat

and gather lilies for your return

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happy seventeen The words



Your memories are measured with seventeen staff kept less secret

that one of my days
walk between illusion and dreams pinned Among
disagreement of mist and unknown
disappointments

The beautiful face
The restless eyes like candles
deployed in search of what life still hides you


Tu soul is not tired, or your star has become pale
Fulgura hopeful to meet
puppy love games and still unknown pleasures

My girl with red hair and perfect smile
How far I am in your budding spring!
I feel inside me avatars
a barren sky

and the avalanche of darkness only hinted


No time for sorrow

Your harvest is just beginning, I know where you stand firm
And the nectar of success awaits you smiling

live in hope or project
Open your eyes and look to the horizon
Plant trees, draw Flirt
soles in the mirror
children dreams, loves and frantically
oh my beautiful granddaughter
keep my rhymes when I
is only in your memory.

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Verushka

Some of our words are strong, free, yellow,
other round, flat, wooden ...
Behind all is the Atlantic. Eugenio
Montejo


I like playing with words, strung together, to take their own life. Imposed and brought me the road. Complicit in my fantasies. When the lines, one after the other, I want his contagious magic, to bring their own pace, with the pace needed to, being read or heard, say and say exactly what they mean. Not produce confusion.
not easy work. There are rebellious words, these are deducted from my desires and become obnoxious, out of context. These are the words that escape me, guided by the demons of emotions. Which, ever said or wrote in moments of anger, pain, or after suffered a betrayal.
There are also words of "others." Those who know the sublime that may constitute a kind word and seek the flattery or even worse the insult by humiliation, with phrases that detract. Very different to the presence of words in the hands of a poet who teaches us how great it can be to their beauty, even those that seem insignificant.
mark words for those who say, either in verbal or written, who is as a person, what is your outlook. Who worship or under what blanket hide their baseness.
open language understanding and helps us not only in the expression but in knowledge. It is the magic key that gives us the opportunity to express the entire range of our feelings. I do not remember who said "We are slaves our own words and our silence," but he was right.
admit that I like a few words, but others fill me with fear, or hate. The latter are not even big words, some to the everyday lexicon, but I avoid it. Them fled to the cowardice of a deserter.
I fear, from hundreds to injustice, denial, amputation, body, blindness, jealousy, alms, cataclysm, slander, greed, misery.
hate; greed, laziness, anger, brutality, infamy, aristocrat, mistake, condition, conditions, frustration, prohibited.
I like freedom, friendship, hope, tenderness, understanding, solidarity, aspiration, bravery, courage, sincerity, loving, eternal, agreement, peace, feeling, health.
But above all there is the word I like, which moves all things, and leads us to make the impossible becomes possible, which intoxicates and transforms us, leading us down the paths of miracle, and that can not be other than LOVE capitalized, italicized, underlined and in bold.
I like that she is qualified by the right adjective, that he put his hand a broad substantive, or magnify content. That is human love, divine, brotherly, the country, the ideals, work, values.
ever want to write with words that have not forgotten

to walk alone and know the road.
What are light weight
and I raise to infinity.
ever, ever,
erase what I wrote and let
to perpetuate the silence.

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Afternoon light



threats of rain, which preoccupied the members of the group "Vision" for the scheduled time for your meeting, had dissipated and later became perfect. Words filled with the pleasant sheltered in reading the book of Ana María Velázquez I thought I would kiss before leaving.
are fifteen stories in which the voice of the author reels, slides with language that leaves no poetry, or images that we are leading by the hand to go landscapes, situations and characters, as if instead of a pen that writes it had a film camera and scanned into the recesses of the female soul. Women whisper stories, internalize their feelings and release them on the fly to exploit, but not aggressively, but like soap bubbles. The book
with a special structure is overwhelming and very literary narratives such as "Macanao" combined with poems, diary sheets and even a special one dedicated to Frida Kahlo, which refers to this being tormented, he lived his own tragedy and as a mythical character was no redemption but through the visual arts. In others, speaking mainly to the absence or loss of love. The reluctance to end a relationship, but leaves enough strength to know that there is no turning back, as that gives the title to the book and ends with a tear and firmness:
I can only stomach or body to put this relationship. I do not want.
I only offered you the word, the verses and rhymes.
Arbeláez White presenter, friend and supporter of the work of the author, accompanied us and illustrated in his career that includes the publication of the storybook With open eyes (2008), co-author of research trials the feminine from the cultural diversity of the Americas (2,008) and a book of literary criticism Two writers address the critical (2006), and their participation and collaboration in various magazines and newspapers.
hereby publish the photos on facebook and this, in which I share with the author Ana María Velázquez and the writer also Krina Ber, testifying to a pleasant chat and do not forget that the invitation for the next meeting will be attended by Ana Teresa Torres to tell us about your book The history of the tribe.

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I admire who gets up early, knowing that the work will make the day seem longer.
Who is able to put poetry to what he writes in an easy way. Who
often falls and rises again and again game and not frustrated.
neighbor's dog that holds a smelly and unfriendly owner just because he had to walk twice a day to relieve his bladder and other things.
The watchman of the building that killed hours after another, no other company that Venezuelan TV channel.
A chubby girl put on a diet for her mother, but I get to the door and asks me goodies.
To Mrs. Ann, my cook for 20 years, living beyond Las Adjuntas and despite his 85 years wants to continue working.
The peddler near Plaza Venezuela, eyed, almost lame, and always smiling even sell dolls with the face of Chavez.
The owner of a bus that has writing on the back glass "In honor of my grandfather."
The traffic policeman stationed at a traffic intersection Quad damaged more than two months to get stoic greetings to his mother and corneteo hundreds of cars.
People who have to handle documents with the registrar or any public office and do not die in the attempt. All women
when mammography us give birth to a child or caring for a husband with the flu.
My friend who is married to a drunkard, who is also a pichirre.
The husband of one that can only talk about diseases and also a shrill voice. This noble Caracas
supporting drought ranchificación, Traffic, thugs, motorized suicide, broken streets, and thousands of evil and yet still, on clear days gives us the light from the Avila and encourages us with the howling of the chachalaca.

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Caracas drought Admiration Meeting with Santaella Fedosy

Caracas, the capital of indolence, improvisation, jam all the time, even with a drought almost forgotten these days of noise, the unfinished works that abound in the streets and broken sidewalks. Do not get carried away by the rush and enjoy the leaves in hues of a spring that is manifested in the araguaney flowers, that surprise us in the streets and avenues and often hidden in the garden of a house. Are those who seem afraid to go out, in this increasingly dangerous city. The few parks
forget the rain has abandoned the show despite this spring in the branches of the vases, the acacias. Some are guilty of this display of joy and forming flowers drop their colorful rugs that make passersby stop. They invite you to admire with delight the beauty of a flower, forgetting for a while the stress, the rush to get home or work; circumvent the stumbling block to those who may not realize the beauty that nature offers and are still struggle, overcome by fatigue that prevented them from exercising this festival of colors. Caracas
also full of contrasts and we soaked in the light plunges us into grief with the burning hills. Wrinkles the soul we see how hundreds of hectares of our Wuaraira Repano are helpless before the advancing flames. A war that always ends up losing and that cost him years to re-greening
not surprising that every year at this time it happen the same fire and not make forecasts, which lack water and let it dry city lost in broken pipes or without proper maintenance.
At least we neglect so to appease those few minutes when our gaze falls on our trees, to counter such apathy that they give us their ephemeral beauty of flowers.

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On Thursday January 28 was the usual monthly meeting with the group Vision . On this occasion the special guest was Fedosy Santaella and his latest publication: novel "The adventures Teofilus Jones unpublished."
I had the honor and pleasure to present the visitor. This gave me the permission and the audacity to question him, not only about Hugo, the main character of his novel, but many details of what has been the course of his career as a writer since leaving his native Puerto Cabello.
The arrival in Caracas with his provincial load up, but nevertheless, not an obstacle to following the impulses of a vocation (which required the sign of a shooting star in the sky) consolidate it as a student of Literature at the Universidad Católica Andrés Bello. Also knew of his memories as a teenager while at high school at the Colegio La Salle, his walks along the boardwalk with his father and so it filled us with anecdotes and nostalgia for the homeland, with its street of The Lancers, two castles American coffee and the odd curiosity in Puerto Cabello, at that time there was no bookstore. (And it seems that now is the same.). And funny thing we found out that Fedosy, believe it or not and despite having his cat for over 15 years with him, DOES NOT LIKE CATS. We review the wide
sheet life that includes numerous awards and recognitions.
To Remember: In 2007, Honorable mention in the Biennial Literary José Antonio Ramos Sucre, with the storybook moon rocks; In 2006, Single Award in the narrative statement of the Biennial of Latin American Literature horizonte, the book Postcards Sub-sole; In 2004, Mayor Contest Prize of Arts and Letters Every day a book of Cognac. Another special guest for various forums, both in Venezuela and abroad.
The afternoon passed in a fun, tinged with the experiences of each of the characters who parade through the pages of unpublished Teofilus vicissitudes Jones. So we learned that the killer murderer Alain Charleori , inspired by a friend who lives in Valencia, who has heard their stories while giving a good account of some beers. Rosita Candelaria that his speech as it does exactly like her mom, but it has nothing to do with how it works, or as he represents the burden of cuaima above. The country in which the novel can be any South American plunged into the same chaos as ours, and that the name of such Hugo, did not come from some inspiration with our agent.
Fedosy Thanks for sharing with us daydream with Pamela Anderson, your favorite phrase is: Let's give and instead your most hated word is nerve.
hope the publication of your new novel, the third of your trilogy, now in the process of re-reading and correction for sharing.
should be noted that the excellent host and his beautiful Piedad Troconis residence were the perfect setting for this evening of literature. The toast of wine and the various gifts to finish reading, we left the pleasant flavor of chicken salad, fish pate, and a foot of plums, among other delicacies.
With the promise of further meetings, we said goodbye until next February 25 when Laura Febres, (eds.), will talk about the book which was one of the researchers: The female gaze from the Cultural diversity of the Americas.
you soon.

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PARENTHESES

Starting this new year rather than make a list of new purposes, it is gratifying to take stock of who we were.
During the last 2009 we got, as in an amusement park, a roller coaster as she had our ups and downs, but there will be thankful that the outcome was positive. We landed intact, ie, December 31 so that in recent years I've appreciated most: enjoying health. There were no major mishaps, except perhaps the occasional flu or some temporary discomfort. No regrets.
In the workplace, the agitated past of trying to solve the "crabs" old men who had been the previous year, I just turned left to conclude that the proposed objectives and with the help of patience, I could circumvent the judicial procrastination: the great evil of our administration of justice.
I personally had the opportunity to make three trips that were important, because each of them reconciled me with a different look.
The first dates for the carnival led us to Colombia. That trip brought a reunion with my husband of his father's family to whom barely knew, as they were many years without direct contact. They were days full of love where we tucked the hospitality and Colombian flavor. In my contact with that part of my husband's family filled me with gratitude. The check is passed that affection and warmth and affection of the blood also came to me, even though he had never seen.
The second in the period from June to July, I led the U.S. to share with my own family, which by the current circumstances in the country is impeached out. Giving their best for the growth of that other land that has welcomed them, just because they are capable and fighters. In which still sometimes feel foreign, but ultimately they know is their second home, which should respect and learn to love as much as their own. Come with sadness that the return will be impossible and yearn to be part of the country they left, but must fight for another.
The time spent with nieces, nephews, cousins \u200b\u200band friends was invaluable. A good memory from beginning to end that filled my spirit, where moments of joy are multiplied together to long talks and shared memories.
The third trip, to close the year 2009, we took my husband and me to the Dominican Republic (Punta Cana) to make a real break in the daily routine. It was the encounter with the sybaritic leisure, letting go of any concerns and get into the silent contemplation as the hours passed with nothing to disturb, if not from the enjoyment of small things. The encounter with the vastness of a beach where the breeze came to bathe in the sun with a feeling that we sank into a dream and see that we were in an earthly paradise. Forgotten power outages, lack of water, for without useless protests are not met, the crime which destroys lives and curtailing future.
was back to the long talks in intimacy, to renew the desires of being together and making new projects. A pledge to repeat these moments we had while health permitted. The list of new trips that are we did extensive planning. I hope to close the balance of 2010 with a Check Mark in each of them.
So welcome 2010, I have the best possible spirit and good cheer this to deal with hope each of the 365 days of the 52 weeks I have ahead. That in each of the hours to come have the strength to overcome the bad times, sure to always come and the word of appreciation for the good they hope to have. Finally and to close this parenthesis I wholeheartedly support the actions undertaken to achieve my goals and achievements do not harm anyone and instead receive the blessing of the Almighty God, who ultimately is the supreme executor of our proposals