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SPECIAL PEOPLE WALK IN THE CLOUDS

One of the tastiest dishes started English cuisine is our omelette and, if possible with onions, the better. Although there is a problem: if you want to do great, you have to have strength in my hands to learn to give it back and it thickens as God intended.

... And is that early spring morning, I realized that in addition to cooking tortillas, tortillas are the headers ... What do you say the body, eh? I have discovered by chance. Well, I already knew, but had not cooked properly in the mind. It has been two very different ways. One, for a start. Someone with whom I had my suspicions on old stories past, has had an accident, but thanks to him I realized that is far greater affection and friendship that often worthless nonsense and misinterpretation of facts.

The second tortilla, is a little harder processing by the condiments that nest in our minds that are not conducive to turn the tables so easily, perhaps too heavy ... The hidden gardens in autumn, in winter and spring revive sleep; law of life. A group of day laborers have begun conditioning work in my garden. Are a group of Latino radio to bed and Caribbean rhythms. Under early with the dog and always give me suspiciously. Ducked his head as I pass, like I do not want to feel, I do not do with what they know. The dogs, which normally are not only more intelligent and intuitive man approached them to smell. Thus, little by little, they were making friends and I, instead of looking at the ground, was looking at them sideways until this morning I heard a voice saying "Good morning, miss. One fine morning to walk "He raised his eyes and have hit our eyes. The smiling his gentle, confident ... When the ride back, I said aloud, "Come you a nice weekend" and one of them replied "God bless"

home I uploaded and I've confessed my dog \u200b\u200b"what two tortillas Frostriche just eat good, right?"

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AFTER THE SMOKED GLASS

In my absence, I am reminded of the fragility of memory memories thought lost, but just were asleep in a corner. Sometimes wake up smell, others light ... My hand is subjected to a relative and drags me to the cafes of my childhood wrapped in toasted aroma and customers with a hat pulled down over his eyebrows and mustache scalpel.

With stripped of any theatrical ceremony, got rid of its ornamentation and hid his eyes behind a newspaper.

An anise and pure. A coffee and a glass of water despendía all the time ... I remember the mist of a snuff smoking customs of those landscapes blurring any coffee in the provinces.

marble tables, wooden chairs, and waiters doing stunts with a tray. Immaculate jackets and pants label. Hair slicked back from where he escaped his psychology to discuss Sunday's game. His hawking front of lovers not to interrupt the compliment of a kiss ...

And so, after the smoked glass of memories all you drink served in a caramelized cava. Scenes that seem to us sometimes in the past was any better.

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Courage

I recently learned that on 11 started a hunger strike Juan Tomas Avila Laurel with the aim of establishing a democracy in Guinea. First

say I met John Thomas in New York at Hofstra University at a meeting of writers who comment, write or confer about Equatorial Guinea. Thomas Annoboneses ethnicity, is a man of very little meat, whose novels about life in Guinea reflect its dynamism and good perception of African anthropology, literature is like a camera than a journalist is increasingly pressing a event happens nearby. The conference that gave short, we all thought was nice but with an undercurrent of hearth, quality, good taste.

pass met Guinea's President Teodoro Obiang, when the Colonial Government decided to send the Academy of Zaragoza to a group of brilliant students of the Indian College and this group appeared one day at the Stade de Santa Isabel to throw some baskets on the basketball court. I got a call to give them the ball because back then I was the CEO of Fernando Poo named basketball federation but not by the Governor General at the request of Mr. Quintana Sports Officer. And the young man stood among his peers and I do not think as far as going to arrive.

I believe that these Presidents of which there are many in the world, are surrounded by a number of sycophants who make them believe they are demigods and that if they leave the nation to sink. Also, when attending a public event they see a crowd that will applaud and cheer him (crowd ready and Guided by mercenaries) and convinced themselves that this reflects the sentiment of the majority. Then
feel as patriarchs of their relatives, or family, countrymen of their people or employees, and this gives you land, a plot of power that this one is placed in a multinational favors and we should be creating a warp difficult to undo. This fabric is defended against opposing views, first words after the arrests and even where they have to go.

I hope that Thomas is free from harassment of the warp, I think the only thing that will get raise a flag for freedom, I hope other hitch flag ..

Enter the fantasy world of Africa, where nature is your umbrella and where the heart expands.

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MEMORY WINDOW DAWN AFTER A WHITE

The sun is out explosions. A large window gave me a spectacular sunrise, tranquil, quiet, between sea mist shreds. I could not write, just watch and absorb these moments.
In the dark dimly lit by light flashes of fishing boats ready to fish, little by little discovering how the horizon is displayed a palette of colors: ash gray, faded blue and raspberry unborn.
The straight line was divided into two parts the mystery: the gray sea as silent as the rooster crowed at four in the morning. The other hand, was a sky emerging from the darkness that was taking more blue dye from the egg yolk to burst.
gradually worked his way up the warm sun of February between the Southern song of birds ... The Mediterranean had woken up with that white light greatly reminded me of a poem Alberti:
The sea. Sea. The sea. Only the sea! Why did you bring me, father, and the city
and why I unearthed from the sea? In dreams the tide pulls on my heart it would llevar.Padre, why did you bring me here? Groaning to see the sea, a sailor on land brought back on air this lament: Oh my blouse sailor, always the wind swelled at the sight of the pier!

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I have yet recorded images on the retinas and painted white because my mind is how different things you have to see a painting, cinema, picture ... When you skate for sensitivity the kaleidoscope of real life, traffic your instincts turn green to let the feelings that caused you all that is surrounding you in an instant imprecise: smell, touch, taste, see and hear the silence that gives you field far from the urban atmosphere so prone to drowsy.

Yesterday I saw the garden and farmland, countryside and the meadow without horizon, married to the sky, united by an alliance that gives snowy winter land. Even the fog engulfed in torrents of light faded to bloom between her small white scrolls roofs, steeples, without a nest, pine wedding dresses immaculately. Up the mountains lying woman whose nipples were like blended with the atmosphere.

And the silence was so brutal that, without realizing it, your lips hissed returning to your prayers thank God for being in that moment disjointed, perhaps thousandths of a second, anyway, in that homeland feeling the veins of life, listening to the heart pumping, stroking the skin of the earth, smelling the soul of those little things we do not usually taste as they deserve.

life is to drink it when it comes ... Tomorrow may be too late.