The rays where still there, the rubi-like shining of the late tides in the center, close to HER domain, where she was invulnerable, she, the one that was the sunrise of the new order; kising the inmensity whith the patience of the lights that come from far beyond the horizon, those platinated sparkles of hope, that came before time to gard us from the shadow.
No clock was runing, no sand grains falling from the Only, still silence, darkened light and silence, the border betwen the possible and the real, the rule that defies time was standing for the Will.
Not even the anger was worried about His last contemplation, all was in the place that was, the illusion ended whith out notice.
The end of the tale was before all the components of the magical mirror that sustained both sides of the WIll.
And Khanthalas, the bard, newed that the holly emerald was to be destroyed inside to free the light of the sun that silenced Apocakorus, the unholly chimera.
So be it like it was written, whispered the voices of the unveiled hearts.
And the mask fell to the mirror and became dust, golden dust to make the centuries to come.
The sunrise was to kiss her, the sunset, for the days to come.
The winter´s sea storm had ended, a month before that cloudy morn.
But the old good ship had not came back to the coast, nor many of the tripulants.
He awoke over the sands of a lonely bay, it was maybe the forty time that the sunrise hapened after the night of the storm, the fortyone, if he had given himself the luxury of a 48 hour sleep, after therynine days floating in the inmense sea of emptiness, oposing his will to the drawn´s.
Life was inside his body as never before, plumbing in his veins, breathing in his chest, in the waves of that sea where he came from.
And his eyes reflected the pain of the fallen ones last seen.
But his heart was not missing more anybody than the spirit of the ship, some how, his "past self" died whith the ship.
He opened his right fist, for the first time since the drawn. The tiny shell of the wheel shield was broken, but he had keep it, after all.
Slowly, he walked, wandering for any person around, remembering, forgiving and forggeting many others, from another times, from diferent places, from a variety of ilusionary lifes, lived before that one, the one that was his, gifted by the owner of life.
The man whith no past walked a little more, before her shiny hair cutted the sunrising whith red waves dancing over her head whith the early brezee.
It was a new day, in many senses, so he keept silent as he aproached.
Some of the salt in his body flowed out from his eyes, tears where refreshing after surviving a drawn.
So he smiled to her, because she was the only reason for him to be smily.
After all his joy and pain, was that man´s truth, and he had glipsed at it in the shades of the emptiness sea.
But the smile, was more a silent kiss, was better than all the words or the stories, was the caress of a silenced heart.
Well, i was having some crisis, but this is the begining of the tale i will be at, the name is "The son of the drawn"
And will be at my Wyvern´s place as soon as i rejoin.
:-) I got a new pc, is slower than my grandma, but is nice.
Forget your pains, forgive your hates, calm down your desires and pray for peace, please.
Sing again, all around, it is here, it is there, it is everywhere, is the chanting of the flowering seeds, is the roaring of life returning to our side.
The year just started today for me, may God be a good year.
Peace and love to every body, i´m a little hippie today.
"All we are saying is give peace a chance"
I got the actor´s job.
So now i´m stayng in the city :(
But it will be fun :)
The bad part of it is i´ll have less time to spend doing nothing :(
The good point about it is, acting is almost like doing nothing :)
The bad part of it is i will have to smile all the time to every person i see in the streets so they don´t think i´m snoby :(
The good part of it is that i smile to everybody all the time so the can sare a little joy :)
The bad part of saturdays is that everybody except for me is sleeping untill 12 :(
the gorgeus part of saturdays is that no body is using a car before 12 :)
Today i´m gonna ask for an actor´s job.
(8D) I´m going to be in t.v. like Homer Adams.
Espero que no sea muy pesado el trabajo. *L*
If i get that job i will be famous, and then i will be rich, and then i will be traveling all around the world from one movie to another one, and then i will start missing my pens and notebooks, and the traveling roads, and my fary tales, and the ocean, and my oceansoul, and...
You know what guys, maybe i get a job as an actor, but definetly i don´t want to be a famous one, Fame is a jelous chic.
So this strange man just aproached my camp in the middle of the night, just like that... we were drawing the bounders of the imaginary to fill the eternal emptiness, when he walked by the border of the total emptiness...
He was like the death itself, nor death or alive, just part of him emptied and part emerging from life source itself, like a plumbing heart, like an inmortal breathing.
He aproached the camp and ask us to share the fire.
Was a friendly bard, the one that apeared from the forsided plane, an old night walker.
We share his wine as well, and one or two not so antique chantings of our fellow cousins in the mountains, but he was a peaceful being and a jolly drinker, so we gift him one magical seed, and a pice of land equal to the three next steps, i did.
Then we left him to keep our jobs, painting the eternal emptiness of the boring side of the mirror.
Some how the winter was aknoleged of this event´before it hapened, and maked the sailor´s ship shrank in the dark emptiness of the night, very close to the border frontier of an elvenwood, where two machtenlings where expanding the frontiers so the ship was delayed from its final doom once again.
And the sailor was a night walker, darker than the emptiness that his soul was carring after been dragged inside it, unkilled like the dawn sun when morn comes back to refresh the new roses petal´s in winter days.
He was aliver than ever after dyng to himself.
There was a fire camp not far away, so he walked there and found hospitality.
The moonlighting was the only witness when he planted the seed, while the black wings of a pirate´s flag was making a tatoo against the eternal emptiness, dancing over the shivering nocturnal tides, whith the charming of all mermaids.
He started his tune in front of a fire flame that was dancing on the branch between burning ashes as an odalisc would do for the sky in the middle of the cobra´s net, he let the wind open the song, and while the sea was marking the time wave by wave, tryng to steal a little more of Crono´s treasure.
Whith the ninth note,the time stoped and the toon begun.
It was a melancolic melody, a very calmed tune of past worries and tired travels, and the first stone just apeared inside the emptiness, and the octagonal song started to shine.
The Dawn surprised the song before it was finished, so it became the director, and the song became beutier as he played, the sea chanted, the winds chorused, and the fire was dancing in the fireplace, there, just over the first, octagonal stone, where he put the light, that started the fire to heaten the tired cold bones.
Then he went for a night walk, to let the stars shine in the darkened freezed side of the heavens.
"The octagonal song" is another one of my "octagonal creations" lately i´m in an eight sided mood, but it is o.k.
Octagonal stuff is always cool.
My tiket just walked 1000 places, i think soon i will be in front of the main door.
I can´t wait, there is so many short stories jumping in, on, and over my head, that i want to put them in Wyverns...
Yes, is right, doctor said i am another of those insane beings that have the bad habit of dreaming, it is maybe an overdoze of readings and feelings i had when i was a little kid, ol good mama forgot to gimme a little less love.
My mom was coll, by the way, she was always giving me a new book everytime.
It´s all her fault doctor, if i am a Genius is because of the guilt of my parents.
I will try to write one less word a day, and i will smoke tow less cigarrets in the afternoon and this year i wold like to...
Forgett about it, is just that today i feel very enthusiastic, maybe is part of my inherted mental disfunction.
Ohhh, you are right, i´m sorry...
That´s better, suond more even more insane .
Good day to anybod...
Is anybody reading by the way????
This is the tale of a star-shinier.
I don´t like to name things, that is the reason why the tale has no name, no time nor end.
This was a good fellow walking by the shadows of the dreaming place, in his eternal duty which consisted in cleaning the shining sky. He had to cross all over the entire night, and it´s chilling parts, before the first calling of day, cleaning and shining the lightrays of the shining and twinkle stars,
From time to time this dedicated shiner, use to take a night swiming, projecting himself into the planet in the form of a falling star, falling joyful to the ocean, to make a dream become true, if there were at least to dreamers awaiting and caring about that dream.
The star shiner loved the ocean, as the cosmos itself, for the ocean was the eternal glancing of every star of the sky, was the chanter of every night dreams.
He use to enjoy the shining of sunrise after his duty hours, when he had finished to clean every dirty shadow and shade, over the nightly lightrays.
Then the ocean was there, dressed to make the miracle of a new day-coming, starting the flames that will paint the next dayly lights drawing, shining her back whith the sined lightrays, carring the moon in her eternal navigation.
At the end of the nightly walk, he use to smile, a little, and to look inside the ocean to find a star from under the sea, and tried to make that, he´s becoming real dream...
Those times, the dream of a new sunrise, becomes true.
I did this one for a very very close person that i found in my dreams, i hope is enjoyable for any reader and is part of a not so long but really beautyful story, that hapened in any contry of any continent of any lands, maybe even in Mars, who nows...
Well, good life to everybody...
UHH??? (8(() Are you reading everybod... Hey is not that bad...
C´monn, i did my best.
Well, i´ll go for my daly cofee cup and eleven in the morning shower before writing, but this is a shining day, so i think it´s gonna be a pice of cake.
I will finish the #$%##$%&& Book tomorrow (8l)
La vida es bella y las mujeres incomprensible
Today i don´t feel really good to start story telling, i think i will have a cup of cofee, some fake smilling to everybody in the house and a good silent talking between feelings and toghts, then i will be a little shinier tha right know, today i feel blue.
How can you laugh when you know i´m down?? I just love the Beattles, they had a perfect prhase for every situation.
Well, such is life, not every morning is as shiny as you would like it to be, this is not the nicest way to start a Valentines day, is weird, dates happen in some strange complicity whith circumstances.
last winter´s last week, i can´t give myself a second to cry, if i don´t finish that $%##&& book, before the week, i´ll have to make a good excuse to loose myself into the road again.
I just can´t live another day whithout traveling ANYWERE.
Citys are worst than prisions, i need some open landscapes, to see how big could the WHOLE VIEW be.
Yeeee it should be humongus!!!
I´ll be back, í just want to check if my tiket for wyverns is ready...
I just can´t wait untill i put my short sotories there, nobody is going to read them anyway, but they will be freed from me.
"It´s not the names"
The young lady was tryng to hide it, but that man´s face radiated a ferocious vitality. It was not the beauty on his factions, but the fact that he had an expressive determination on them that somehow extended to the ambience, like a wave exploding otside the sea.
The horizon was reflected by his glance before he crossed the front door of the Silver parrot´s cove.
At that time, there were few at the tavern, apart from the young lady and the unknown, man, there was a harbor-holder-
The bartender was drinking by his own, away from the beer-begar and everybody, on the backside of the palmtree bar that dominated the whole bay, waiting, as always for the next wawe, for the next spring when the merchants would be there outside the security of their walled harbors, and the riders from the ocean could prey over their cargo, then the bar would have his charm back, the laughing, the fights, the black talking and of course, all those barrels that where waiting in the storehouse to be emptied.
From the wide windows in front of him, the six o clock sun started the daly quest for conquering the sea reflex before the dawn.
The light was going forward whith the delicance of the tide, carefully, paciently, whith the conviction of their inminent victory over the shadows and the coast.
Only the golden dressed ocean separated the table he choose from her own inside the view of the bartender.
He grunched some blame about the insistence of clients to sit theirselves in opposite sides always, he had to work twice, which was worst than working, maybe those water thrumps did´t know why he setlled down and buyed the Silver parrot, but he was dreaming whith the day he never need to work again when he did so.
Even if their tables where apart in distance, they shared a friendly glance before he sat, it was impossible to evade his eyes, he was from the deep, she tought, his glance was quiet, the horizon was inside.
He smiled slightly, glancing directly inside the young lady´s own eyes, he looked a little before taking seat, like a praery wolf does when it recall their kin´s sent dancing inside the nose.
His sailor boots and the swords leaved no doubt about his daily living way, and by his cool manners, it was for sure that he had some time surving his fate whith out dubting.
That man was from the sea.
His clothes where deepblue, so dark that in shadows was as pure black, as night is, he should have trusted his own fighting capacities, because no armor was worn, the crossed leather belts that supported the swords attached to his back, were the only thing protection to his heart, and when the bartender approached his table, even he took that apart, letting the two blades hang on next chair.
He was not so bold to be that uncareful, thought the barkeeper after taking his "glass of wine" order, maybe was a lucky one, or a really dangerous fighter, it was imposible to guess inside the cold mask of serenity that was assuming at that moment.
The young lady knew a lot about sea weapons, but she never saw a sailor using those kind of blades, those swords where not sailor wapons, but warrior´s; a short wakisashi short whith strange holes in the handing was on the side of the long sword that catched her attention away from her inspection of the uknown holder.
The handing of that sword was by itself impressive, locking the blade inside the halbard, a dragon head whith two blue gemstone eyes, extended its wave wings on the other side oh the hand, it was a fancy smithcraft, when not in combat, the wings resembled tow wide ocean waves it seemed like if the dragon´s neck and head were emerging from the ocean.In the keep of the blade there was a strange word, written in a overseas language, maybe it was the name of the weapon, maybe some good blessing from the ocean-gipsyes -if those fellows where real not only in the tales of ocean bards,- perhaps, it was the name of the city of procedence of the steel, or the smith´s mark, it seemed antique, anyway, very very old, it radiated itself a strong aura of force, but it was not a magical one, that sword had the strength of the tides and deaths from many centuryes on it.
It was the word that let the man stop his own thinking, she was not a disguised mermaid, nor a hunter of riders, she was something else.
Are you a mermaid? Asked him again in silence, not being so sure, her calmed contemplation of the sword, was so concentrated, the shining in her right eye and the strong details on her face... She had her own weapons at hand, just in case, but her ways were natural, she was not acting, that girl was from the ocean as well and she was the commander of a ship, if the leather gloves were justified in her daily duty against the tides.
- The word in the keep of your sword suggest to me that you come from the overseas
- Shooted the young lady first cause she did´t want to admit that she was caughted by surprise. When she took her glance away from the sword, it was captured inside hi´s.
The man was smiling when she started talking, and she took care of her next words, knowing that words are sharper than any sword and much, much, dangerous if said to an known sailor armed whith two war blades. Anyway, she had seen many things toughter than that thin sailor so imprudent to leave his weapons aside, in front of her.- Is that correct ?
She marked a pause, willing to know his name, but he waited a little before answering. Whith a wide friendly smile he replied:
- You are the one from overseas, i come from the deep oceans over the horizon, maybe you have raided those waves before Capitan? He trhrew his own hook over her.
- Not yet she added carefully.
- Would you want to know the translation of the word? asked the traveler to disguise a little the tension between them, she was strong, almost ten years younger than him, but that shining on her eye was there.
- A sailor may always make good use of translations - she replied whith out showing any particular interest on it.
- That´s right, Capitan, it´s not only the waves and winds our friends aboard, right? he smilled again, whith that stupid childlike expression, she became tenser, unsteady.- Words, wel then, that one is a complex symbol, - his voice roared again inside her ears whithout asking, whith the sound of the all the tides awaiting to chorus them- In a way of interpreting it, that word is the name of this blade, in a different interpretation of this word is the destiny of the life, in any case, in your own lenguage means to be one whith the ocean .
She nodded whith no gesture, satisfied whith the answer that was enough to help her wander about the fighting possibilities of that unknown man.
Any way, he was calmed, as the afternoon over the window, traspassing her silouhete whith the eyes till the window, and far beyond, to escort the last tale of the day´s sun back inside the unseen realm beyond the horizon line, she was surrounded by the sun when he walked whithout the swords to her table and asked gently before taking a seat.
- Would I drink some of your water, Capitan?
She extended her hand, looking to the jar of pure water she had on the side of her pinch of ale, the bartender was arguing whith a tought looking merchant outside the cove, so it was imposible to refuse the sailors bound, he was asking for drinking water that she was not in need of, then the rules of the sailors were very simple to that respect she was obligated by Pirates honor- Not many things in the entire planet are such a beauty contemplation as water is. Said the man surprising her toughts again, while looking inside the glass to play whith the sun rays in his hand for a moment, and then drank half the content of it.- Don´t you think so lady?
She smiled, he was seated in front of her before she noticed so.
- And where exactly are you coming from? She asked in response.
He extended his finger over the ocean, and smiled again, then hided both hands from her view under the table.
She caressed her dagger´s hilt under the table on her own side, wishing to loose control over her impulse to cut that arrogant foreigner´s throat.
- The ocean -said him at last- May I have a seat at your table, Capitan?
- Be my guest sailor.
- I am one of those that earth fellows call the people of the seas, a wandering sailor that lives no more in the world, and serves the will of tides, and the fates of its contents. I just came here to get rations before my ship leaves the islands.
- Nice to meet you replied her whithout impressing in her voice any more than the courtesy.- And tell me mr whatsoever the name is, what kind of ship are you traveling in?
- An old hundred Galleon, Capitan, its strong and fast, no matter that I find it a little unconfortable for my travels.
- And how may I help you? Asked her at last wishing that the smiling idiot had never crossed the door of the silver parrot´s cove, it was very polite, and for her that was a mask of weakness, he was pretending to be cool, but he was not, she could feel the tension on her hand, the desire of killing inmediatly that unknown warrior, it was the adrenaline´s voice shouting in her heart.
- You just did, replied him, showing a little piece of parchment where he had made a drawing.
The bardtender came back whith the wine and the unknown traveler went back to his table to take care of his swords, leaving the draw over the table.
- Thanks for sharing your water Capitan, i´m honored to meet you.
He left two coins on the table and then just leave, whith out even glancing at the wine, nor the young girl again.
When the traveler crossed over the door to leave the Silver parrot´s cove, the night had begun, he left whith the last ray of the sun and vanished inside the early shades, like the old currents do when they reach the high seas.
More than writing a poem, he was living one before the dyng of the afternoon, and whithin the words of that poetry, the day died, darkening the draw and the girl in silence.
I wonder if this is a complete history or a piece of a huge antique story i herd before, so many tales made the treasure of a traveling bard, that i don´t remember clearly if this is my history, or sailor´s.
What do you think?
I need to learn now the secrets of puting something inside the lybrary, so Ci vidiamo, i´ll fix that right now.
It is there, in the ocean, that we really are.
Pirates are always missing, but is part of the feeling of waves, is not the pirate´s feelings but the ocean´s.
The entire life belongs to and serves it in one way or another.
There, inside the treasure chambers of life´s palace, in the deepest waters of all, is home for aour kin.
There, we are always toghether, thats the reason we don´t need names, our ships have their glory, we are the sailors, no more, Capitan will suffy, the entire ocean travel inside each of us, just to fullfil its desire of returning, to the earth, to see the ponds and sweet rivers where everything begings again.
I need to make a short story abut that, it´s a good reflexion of many things.
Today i finally translated "Is not the names", a short story, i just need to translate a second one and i will have a place in the lybrary. :P
I´ll fix it right now.
Even winter is dyng in this days, i heard the birds comming back to chant inside my garden of thoughts...
The horizon is a unique contemplation of the lover and the beloved, layng over the ever-dancing hamaca of The Great Sailor, to bond the sacred daily rituals of their eternal wedding. Dreaming again, inside their moon shades and their shining winds, whith the blinks of a tear, and a kiss and the lonely pirate ship´s midnight to remember it forever in silence, till the waves call it under forever, and thenafter.
Then they will enlight our souls whith the daily miracle of the golden-seacicl
Salt to the wawes, that is we, shadows that come from the deepseas and hunt on the shining of gold in unknown ships,riders and keepers of sea, ever departing lovers who´s only and one beloved forever is the ocean; ever adventurering people, that travel the Great Travel singing and drinking and dancing to celebrate that its pirate´s night, hunting and searching and waiting, as you fellow earthling do dayly in yor side of this mirror that caress daily our solitude, singing and praying and dreaming, as our fellows inside the magical woods, cheering and laughing in freedom as do birds while flyng in their own side of that mirror of our soul.
The horizon is mirror to the glance of our kin, in the glance of an ocean-gipsy you can only see the horizon over the sea, the eternal promess of another day aboard.
Thats why, thats the reason we know each other over the sea, our glance belongs to de sea, there, the sea, is what we are.
WEE (Muy contento)
"Strange days indeed" As the bards chanted in other times
i really enjoied to write that, it broght me back nice dreams from years ago.
This is an old text written by pirates, a new friend just made me recall it so i ´will try to traslate it.
En la mirada guardaste los brillos de un alba germinando en medio del mar, ahí en las pupilas sostienes al horizonte que se contempla solo si el barco a dejado la tierra para no verla más, ese cielo y mar que se aman día y noche y se dan lunas y soles sin prisa y sin pausa, que enseñan a los mortales el verdadero arte de amar, que nos cuentan a los piratas el palpitar del amor que es eterno y acuna al mundo.
El horizonte es una sola contemplación del amado y la amada, tendidos sobre el lecho constelar, llenando el vacío infinito con su amanecer y atardecer, para la celebración cotidiana de sus nupcias eternas, alegrandose con sus lunas nuevas y llenas, con el brillo y la lágrima, del beso y la noche solitaria para recordarlo, del calor que va creciendo durante la cercanía y la paz que sueña durante la melancolía, y la luz del amanecer que esperanza y el atardecer que nos deja tiempo para extrañar.
Entre sus garzas y nubes van alentando a los barcos que tienen el coraje y la esperanza para izar todas sus velas en busca de lo que hay más allá, para abandonarse entre sus olas e islas y realizar el viaje que lleva lejos del mundo y cerca de la vida, se reconoce el mar porque al guadarlo en los labios se siente el agua que refresca la piel y la sal que le da su sabor especial, es el sabor del mar el que nos recuerda que no es un río de aguas dulces y rumbos establecidos cuyas corrientes no pueden más que llevarte a donde logran llegar y te impiden viajar a donde deseas, agua dulce sin sabor que nace en la tierra para morir en el mar.
El mar es el destino y origen de todos los ríos, de todas las especies, de todos los respiros y el palpitar de las miradas y los besos de la tierra y la montaña, el mar es el puente entre la tierra y el cielo para el que ama, es el espejo del cielo, el manto de la tierra, la casa del mundo y sus habitantes.
Todos los piratas venimos de la mar.
Ahí en tus ojos navegó mi barco, izando la vela de los que navegan hasta lo más profundo para hallar los misterios que se ocultan más allá de las costas, para buscar las islas secretas donde sus tesoros estarán seguros, donde se hallará la riqueza inimaginable que los hombres de tierra (pobres y tristes hombres que no saben de más mundo que sus pueblitos y vecinos porque no se atrevien a enfrentarse a la mar) nunca podrán disfrutar, esos tesoros guardados que ni el oceano sabe que guarda y que los piratas ganamos para ser los reyes del mar.
In the glance you kept the sunrise ever shines, awakening from its tomb of waves.
There in the eyes you support the horizon the is only visible if your ship has forgotten the land,
That sea and that sky that love each other every morn, every day, every shining of a star, that gifts brezzes and moonshinings, that gifts clouds and windy storms, whithout hurry nor awaiting, just in breathing whith the wave.
I think it was not a literal translation, but the same idea i hope, i will finish later, cause i feel lazy right now. *l*
The night always brings the silence, the awakening of our shadows and shades, the alertness of our entire existence.
Last one, carried in her misty breeze the horror of a bloody gift, last night the Kin of those that bleed, sent the last one of my brothers, he is now another wandering creature of the night, just that.
I´ts the nightmare of this Apokocachorus quimering the gods?
Or the shining of Elflend lighthing the fifth sun?
I´ts the end of our beggining or the end of our tale?
Dream is comming inside the shadows and is drawing whith the shades, on the end of this nightmare Elflend is waiting to be freed.
In the night awake the secrets of the evil and the saint, in the day awakes the dreamer to amuze him whith his day.
Bueno, para ejercitar el English no me molesta, pero el asunto más allá de mis torpezas linguisticas en otro idioma es la triste noche y sus víctimas.
Dice la noche cuando toca a la puerta, te entrego tus miedos, tu cansancio y tus muertos, al tiempo que el sueño sueña, el soñador se condena, y entonces se marcha a la noche y recolecta destellos de luna para tejer la colmena, después llegarán estrellas que aderecen su agonía, el colmillo inmisericorde del invierno y de sus huestes, habrá que creer en algo, inventarse un mundo propio, esperar a que amanezca y sembrar en el jardín, como hobbits que han crecido y como elfos que recuerdan,
Habrá que enfundar la espada, habrá que cantar de nuevo y dejar de luchar, pero esta noche volverán las sombras y sus contornos a cantarme su terror, el invierno se está muriendo y me cuenta su dolor, incluso mi amigo invierno puede hallar en esta casa un destello de calor.
Buen camino hasta el retorno gran barquero, esta noche no iré yo, el jardín aguarda a ser sembrado, y Elflenda con su luz, tal vez el otro año, tal vez me lleve el otoño, o quizá muera en abril, pero hoy no muero con el año, hoy renazco sobre los huesos que la noche trajo.
En palabras simples, no fue una buena velada, la visita de Yves me entristecio un poco, me apena que el arte siga siendo objeto de tantos sacrificios.
Continuará mañana (si sigo vivo)
This is an artist daily life Cheers for that.
Today it was funny to help my dear Vanesa in her fotografic experiments.
Finally i have a pleasent disguise to wander confortably by the elfwood town and share a bottle or two whith the beggars, the old drunks and the charming females that make the dream go on whith their magic.
Se me olvida que está Elflenda, siempre a mi lado para susurrar la siguiente linea de mi propio hechizo, que es tan encantadora y celosa, que me sube a los árboles y me cuenta historias de hadas, pero no se me olvida nunca que estás tú, allá del otro lado de mis plumas, compartiendo y disfrutando de un sueño de letras e imagenes que se hace cierto en todos los demás.
Finally the catarsis of my personal tale happend five minutes ago, it´s over i was a little amazed by this year collection of new masks, many people had reflected on the mirror lately =0).
Es una pena no poder lograr la misma musicalidad en el lenguaje cuando escribe uno en inglés =-(
En fin que el día va fabricando a los duendecillos que me cuentan las historias de a uno por hora, si sigo así tendré que escribirle a Santa Claus para ver si tiene duendecillos desempleados que me ayuden con esta deliciosa neurosis de juglar errante.
Ahora visito a mi hermano Federico, él y su esposa son encantadores, me hacen sentir como si estuviera pasando unas vacaciones en la casa de Hansel y Gretel.
Entre tanto el Eneakefalón aguarda la estrofa en la que ha de despertar, el editor aguarda un libro, el invierno su fin y yo una buena muerte.
Bueno, continúa la caleidoscopía de la mirada de Almachtigam, esta semana tengo que retribuir a Pleroma los sueños que me obsequió Cronos en los pasados siete días, primero muté de disfraz, después de espejo, después de reloj y toca escribir otro capítulo, de otro libro, el año de la feliz fortuna se está terminando, vienen otros ciclos, otras historias, otros sueños para fabricar con la invisible sustancia del deseo.
I need to practice my english a lot before tryng to traslate that.
But i´m working on it, just gimme some time :-/