The alarm eight o'clock in the morning. The bed becomes gummy and impossible to loosen it from the skin .... Five more minutes, please! Five minutes, the critical time of life, a catharsis where you can reach the lost glory or happiness.
cachaciento The sun shines for their freedom. Down in the underworld, I road to repression. The injustice was brought back from laziness and me. Eight months of hard toil and now, again, two new work.
Gone are the endless nights when the pale dawn suspending talks nonsense of pleasure in play, the absence of God and the dream life of oxidized damage bourgeois and outdated values.
shirt and pants are the visual symbol of the change of life. There are only ten minutes to be on time, is nine o'clock appointment. I take a taxi to a final revised what I leave behind and try to freak you up.
already in the office, the contractor asks me if I can start today: Neither this, nor tomorrow. I am committed to my records, my bed and some other book! "Yes sir, normal for me," I reply.
The contractor leads me to the newsroom. In this little pond full of cyber boxes, each in his wrecked. Some are empty, owners are still on vacation. I have one of the bosses and I remain in charge.
The first experience was interesting news. Until that moment I thought college was still the period where a 'tomorrow' could still work. After receiving my commission the day, dropped the first bomb of stupidity ... when should I submit?
First, the commissions are responsible for yesterday, as a journalist lives always in the morning. In addition, there is no excuse to justify the drop of a note, that is, at the end of the day, you are obliged to leave completely happy to have met your work.
One of the strangest things was always the poor management of schedules. Time being the worst enemy of the news, it seemed odd that a meeting of colleagues involved in the events unjustifiably arrived so late. I remember one day he's summoned to a press conference in which reporters arrived 25 minutes later and the speaker arrived an hour and a half after the agreed time. This ungrateful
experience, joined thousands of similar magnitude. They were latecomers, but also forgetful. They agree on an appointment and disappeared from the face of the earth. Similarly, the eternal waiting for a response rejection was added to the work I had already committed.
dismembered
gazelle "The eviction of the aunt, sell, sell. We found a dead man in the Bethlehem ... a leg of the Regional has tuberculosis, is hospitalized for two weeks and nobody has come to see. "
full of piranhas The maretazo overwhelms the character of the facts. Destroy all hungry for prey. Above, the vultures fly in circles, waiting for the best part: waste.
gazelle seems unconcerned about his death. Each Piranha will take the best part as an opportunity to achieve established. The vultures flapping and neck of the victim is suddenly torn by the sharp teeth of marine animal vicious.
snakes with their tusks, they have destroyed the wall that protected the sea of \u200b\u200bforest. They knew that the gazelle would cause uproar in the ocean, incredibly short supply lately.
The wave has receded, yet the fish are eating the victim. And satisfied, they retreat to their small stomachs swollen. The gazelle is still alive, only a membrane joins his neck with the rest of your body. The facial skin has been ripped out and the viscera is scattered.
The puddle of guts is heated by the sun and some parasites escape suffocation of your home. They have been devouring the animal day after day, moving her lips and poison your body. Are to blame for the delay of the dam.
already dying, the doe feel a sting in the skull and many more in the rest of the body. Their bones are pierced by sharp scissors, and melted by hot acids. They are vultures and they are on it, almost can not see the light, you can only guess hairless, wrinkled head.
The small animal, skinned and maimed is ready to exhale. Roll up the little strength left and managed a smile, a smile of satisfaction, the same that got away when he saw the wave. Looking
from the horizon
The sky is orange and the whole landscape is red. The sun is dying and the sea looks like a gaping hole in its maximum passivity. Sustainable achievement salt on the wet carpet and the blackness of my image is flipped down from the skyline. Whenever
are more distant in the morning on the blue truck and isolated remote landscapes Trujillo. Laredo, Mora Salavaerry and Florence will be a little realistic dream. Gone are the experiences and the future is filled with new challenges, new changes, a complete revolution.
papers will be filed between memories and each note is the evidence of time and dedicated space. This experience has broadened the way and left the opportunity to join more walkers. The struggle for social improvement hope is activated.
Working in this environment has been a window with a view of reality. A reality that often turns its back on their conflicts and hides her head against the odds. A world created by people fearful of change and servants of old values \u200b\u200boppressors. A chaotic and difficult life, but with a slight hope of improving it all, do it right.
has also been the pretext to create new friendships with the 'crazy pastors, Papucho and teapots. " People who sympathized with my inexperience and were able to raise support for one or two steps.
From my colleagues I have learned a lot in private lessons. Me, I hope they have absorbed the concern for change and improvement, the rebelliousness of youth and innocence of relying heavily on the ideals. Moreover, I assume that the recreational activity in the daily builds on the strengths within our profession. Viva la Cultural Revolution!
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