THE EYES OF THE BOOKS HAVE NOT DEAD IN THE BLESSED AND CURSED MANICOMIES OF THE SOCIAL NETWORKS…
The eyes of the books have not died in the madhouse of love breaks.
The eyes of the books have not died in suicides and crimes of love, power and alcohol.
First book and then face ...
Read Sister Juana Inés de la Cruz, who traveled with First Dream, to the homeland of La Catrina on April 17 of 1695, 324 years ago, is a delight at dawn ... Stop, crave, stop.
First book and then face ..
The eyes of the books have not died in the macabre dance of heroin, morphine, cocaine, glass, studs ...
First book and then face.
Reading Eduardo Galeano, on the rooftop twilight, with a good coffee from Chiapas, is an infinite, serene, vital journey:
"Utopia is on the horizon. I walk two steps and the horizon runs ten steps further. So, for what does the utophy works? For that, it serves to walk ”.
Reading, reading is an act of radical love. Love is radical or it is not. Leo, then I exist. I read, then, I dream. I read, then I laugh. Leo, then I sing. Leo, then I love. I love, then I read ... I imagine, then I exist. Imagine ritual in extinction. What happens is that we are losing our imagination, and everything is meaningless to us, that is.
First book and then face.
Reading, reading the eyes of books is a true miracle in the 21st century.
Charles Bukowski did not kill his father because he read and read Fedor Dostoyevski furiously, sneaking in the early morning.
First book and then face is a ritual that agonizes, in our agitated, compulsive, frenetic, hysterical, neurotic, supermodern hypermodern days, tattooed of unlimited infamy, violence, huge aggression.
The eyes of the books have not died in the immeasurable barbarism of the media, which hallucinate and love ... Horror that fascinates? Horror that sublimates?
The eyes of the books have not died in the uncontrollable desire to have and have money ...
I charge, then I exist. Deposit and shut up. Deposit and don't talk to me about love, dog. Deposit and go, you fool. Deposit and don't love me, stupid, naive, crazy shit. Deposit and don't even dream about my love, bastard. Deposit and don't even dream about my mouth, nefarious of crap.
The eyes of the books have not died in the storm of criminal bullets in the body of Emiliano Zapata, killed by the soldiers of General Jesús Guajuaro, the April 10 of 1919.
The eyes of the books open the eyes of Memory. The eyes of my General Emiliano Zapata are never forgotten. Emiliano Zapata's eyes are eternal in the lands of southern Mexico.
First book and then face ... To be or not to be, that's the question ... Shakespeare, always Shakespere ...
Shakespeare is God ... God is Shakespeare ... Shakespere invented us all ...
In the eyes of Shakespeare live and coexist the eyes of the human condition.
Shakespeare, the 23 of April of 1564 is born. Shakespeare's eyes open and close the chess of power.
Shakespeare's eyes have not died in the rivers and rivers of blood in The History of England and the world.
Shakespeare's eyes smile with Yorick's skull, the jester who provoked the laughter of the child William. Do you hear the laugh, the smile and the laugh of the child William? Do you listen
First Shakespeare and then face ... Die in the danger of your eyes: Romeo in Juliet's eyes.
They make love with their eyes on the balcony ... the moon smiles with erotic tenderness.
Shakespeare dies on April 23 from 1616. 349 years ago: Holy Trinity Church, United Kingdom.
And Shakespeare's eyes continue to open mysteries in all the eyes of the world.
Shakespeare's eyes have not died in the asylum of beastly super-entertainment.
Shakespeare's eyes do not die in The Syndrome of the Wild Suicidal Salvation of the masses of the 21st century.
Shakespeare's eyes do not burn in The Wild Suicide Salvation Syndrome, fierce howl of young people born between 1980 and 1990 ... Ahhh, the suicidal generations, twenty years before the 21st century.
The eyes of Shakepeare, who was born on April 23 of 1564, 455 years ago, do not die in supermarkets of entertainment, banality and narcissism. First book and then face.
First Cervantes and then, very later, already as a last option, face ..
The eyes of Miguel Cervantes, were born on September 29. Alcala de Henares, Spain. 1547
468 years ago.
Ahhh, Sancho Panza's humor ...
Ahhh, the delirious laugh of his beautiful donkey.
Ahhh, the free spirit of Don Quixote de La Mancha.
Ahhh, the love without limits of Don Quixote to Dulcínea del Toboso.
Ahhh, the galloping horse of Rocinante. They fly and fly through rivers and mountains.
They fly and fly through amazing clouds.
Ahhh, the limitless imagination of Don Quixote de La Mancha, that of the sad figure.
Ahhh, the bitter, wise smile of Miguel de Cervantes Saaavedra.
Reading Cervantes is flying and flying on the endless wings of the Imagination.
Cervantes rode with his horse in the eyes of La Catrina, the April 23 of 1616. Madrid Spain.
The eyes of Shakespeare and Cervantes met the eyes of La Catrina, the same day and the same year ... And at the same time ... Do you hear the triad of laughter from Shakespeare, Cervantes and La Catrina?
The eyes of the books have not died in the hypermodern claws of the blessed and damn social networks.
The eyes of the books are eternal, vibrant, luminous memory in the wounded, blind, one-eyed, short-sighted, bleeding, hollow, brave, daring, of the miraculous and disgusting humanity.