This blog tries to create conscience on the need to read big texts of big authors ,because of it cuts and images of texts that have marked the history of the literature will be published.
martes, 19 de marzo de 2013
martes, 5 de marzo de 2013
Chapter 7
I Touch your mouth, with a finger I touch the edge of your mouth, go drawing it as if it was going out of my hand, as if by the first time your mouth was half-opened, and it is enough to me to close the eyes to undo everything and to restart, I make it born every time the mouth that I wish, the mouth that my hand chooses and draws you in the face, a mouth chosen between all, with sovereign freedom chosen by me to draw it with my hand for your face, and that for a random that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth that smiles below while my hand draws you. You look at me, Closely you look at me, increasingly closely and then we play to the cyclops, look increasingly closely and our eyes are enlarged, approach between , while they are superposed and the cyclops look, breathing confused, the mouths fight lukewarmly, being bitten by the lips, resting upset the language in the teeth, playing in his enclosures where a heavy air goes and comes with one old perfume and a silence. Then my hands seek to sink in your hair, to caress slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss each other as if we had the mouth full of flowers or of fish, of alive movements, of dark fragrance. And if we bite our pain it is sweet, and if we suffocate in brief and terribly to absorb simultaneously , this instantaneous death is beautiful. And there is an alone saliva and an alone flavor to mature fruit, and you tremble against me as a moon in the water.
CHAPTER 7 RAYUELA BY JULIO CORTAZAR
I Touch your mouth, with a finger I touch the edge of your mouth, go drawing it as if it was going out of my hand, as if by the first time your mouth was half-opened, and it is enough to me to close the eyes to undo everything and to restart, I make it born every time the mouth that I wish, the mouth that my hand chooses and draws you in the face, a mouth chosen between all, with sovereign freedom chosen by me to draw it with my hand for your face, and that for a random that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth that smiles below while my hand draws you. You look at me, Closely you look at me, increasingly closely and then we play to the cyclops, look increasingly closely and our eyes are enlarged, approach between , while they are superposed and the cyclops look, breathing confused, the mouths fight lukewarmly, being bitten by the lips, resting upset the language in the teeth, playing in his enclosures where a heavy air goes and comes with one old perfume and a silence. Then my hands seek to sink in your hair, to caress slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss each other as if we had the mouth full of flowers or of fish, of alive movements, of dark fragrance. And if we bite our pain it is sweet, and if we suffocate in brief and terribly to absorb simultaneously , this instantaneous death is beautiful. And there is an alone saliva and an alone flavor to mature fruit, and you tremble against me as a moon in the water.
CHAPTER 7 RAYUELA BY JULIO CORTAZAR
martes, 26 de febrero de 2013
don't worry, I won't gamble with an eviction
I won't tattoo remembering with forgetting
there are many things left to say and suppress
and many grapes left to fill our mouths
don't worry, I'm convinced
joy doesn't need to throw any more little stones
I'm coming
I'm coming.
From "Little stones at my window" Mario Benedetti
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