Test For Invitation Birthday Toy Story

From "The Dark Side of the Mirror" Clarification

"We contacted the author of" The Dark Side of the Mirror ", by Sandra Becerril, who was published last year in the collection The quine Tanda and she was recommended to us the work of Angelica. The presentation of the book adds to a series of literary presentations that are conducted every Monday at the Casona del Teatro, and is part of a project where we want Michoacan writers go to the Olympics of the word. But to do so, there is one way where we get in touch with others and listen to other voices, other ways of thinking, says Rodriguez Avalos.
In this regard, he notes that "The Dark Side of the Mirror" Is a high quality material, that opens those paths of language. Many times the problem the writer is that you are faking, but we bring Morelia authors who have their own style and the same can talk through literature, people here as other people in the world. Literature and poetry should be, should think universally because then the language ceases to be home to become universal. "

not miss it!

Very Mature And Ecchi Anime

Suggested by my good friend Mario ...

Just today I had a little time to connect to the network and I run a review of Carlos Manuel Cruz Meza, accusing of alleged plagiarism, which is why I prefer to clarify everything at once so there is no doubt what is really happening:
1. A year ago approx. was published in the journal Argentina Axxon , a text called Erzebeth with my name as author. The story was not mine, so I wrote to Sergio Hartman, the editor, explaining that I had not sent such a message. He said that a Sandra Becerril commanded, and as I had posted earlier in Axxon , assumed that I was and why it was published without a doubt. Clarified the point that I was not the author (at that time unknown even the name of Carlos Cruz), told me that it would disappear from the page to the next edition and did not pass over.

2. A few weeks later, I start to get on this blog, malicious comments where I say my best text is " Erzabeth ." It was when we realized that not only was a mistake editing Axxon or a mistake, but someone had sent him to the magazine with the intention to accuse me of plagiarism and undermine my reputation.

3. Today I find the comment by this author in my blog and a series of emails where not only accuse me anything without flushing before me, but also insulting me, saying things like: ignorant, stupid, etc.. I have the emails to prove what I'm saying, both the editor, as this author that I have not even like know or have read previously.
3.1. There are parts where even accuse me of saying that I have won awards are fictitious. That works out very easily if someone has doubts: google.

4. Some pages are beginning to use words of writers like Alberto Chimal , saying he accuses me of plagiarism when it does not, he just ran an article about plagiarism. It is easy to use texts other in our favor, but I will not, do not need to defend myself. I do here, this is just a clarification.

I'm not willing to get entangled in a war of dimes and diretes . The work of the people speaks for itself. There are people willing to do anything for publicity at the expense of others. Those same people, even used the image of my son from one year to attack. I can assume that I am proud of what I have achieved my age with my work and effort.

I've always been here, I have never hidden or I'm gone.

now: you judge . I'll be here as always writing because that's what I do, my passion and what I love. In this issue, I will not talk more, so I got on this blog because nothing is, nothing to fear.


'm here for you.

Greetings!

Vote Of Thanks Speech, Wedding

suggested Tuesday Red (Fragment)

Tuesday Red (II)
(excerpt from the new novel)

A sound woke him. Flies. Pulled the covers to the head, but the heat and the endless ringing made him jump up and shivering between asleep and awake, turned on the light. A shiver ran down from his feet when he saw the source: dozens of insects flying around, flies, black butterflies and moths, all in an anxious flutter, crashing into the wall, against Eduardo pajamas, hiding among his old books under the bed, rushing to the window closed. With an anxiety that had never known before, he covered his face, opened the window and began to kill insects with a shoe. One after another they fell, were smeared on the roof, on the sheets, collapsed on the face of Eduardo. In the end, the whole room was carpeted. Still trembling hand, placed the same clothes he had worn during the day and came back. When inhaled the fresh air, began to tremble again. Had dropped my cigarette. Damn cool.


Eduardo gets into his car, starts and takes the peripheral at this time, is clear. Manage and drive without knowing how much time, just get seduced by the way, hits the road. Erick is disturbed. He saw the body, but imagine life without one so full of it, it annoys. Distracting sound "will have a flat tire? Look in the rearview mirror, no cars come back. Try to pull over to the right, turns to look. Almost crashed against the bar when he sees containment Frida sitting in the back seat. She, with a blank stare, completely white eyes while watching it ...: Eduardo
hear a horn, giving the steering wheel and when he returned to look again, Frida disappeared.
Arriving at his apartment, opens even with trembling hands, she drops the keys, slams the door. Behind her as a child sits down and begins to mourn.
─ I feel lonely. "Speak out loud.
craves a cigarette. What a hateful way of thinking that problems are going up in smoke. You are alone. Out of his crate almost banned a stale cigarette smells different, tastes different and makes you feel better. As a ritual, you feel like hiding behind the living room couch, watching the skinny window. Never had more than two puffs without feeling guiltily intoxicated. Today is just the portion that remained, until his escape to the green troubles breathing.
The days of the weekend happen one after another with laziness. The hours are long, as if the clock would go back in time to move forward. Eduardo does not come out these days, just ordering a meal in his apartment and looks at her watch movies. Sometimes carefully browse the book of letters. He's afraid to reach the fourth. The other three already know them by heart. Imagine the tortured man away from his beloved, he imagines himself so hard in court, who dreams of it.

Pentagram With A Upside Down C

Over there I see ... The notebook


At 17:00

"Nameless Fantasy "

:)

Who Makes Acini De Pepe Pasta

2006.

Unwittingly me in a forest of dreams where you have not slept reaching my hope . And if the moon could intermixed with my cry and obfuscate your fears with this neglect of ivy and gaps that allow you have not heard. Fainting
you, your forgetfulness, your mouth, your pale skin and my future. Die in past. And if my dream
beat my eye lids closing my innocence, you talk with shadows, with the deaths buried. Not wither this love ... I ensure that the moon at his funeral, bury it in your eyes, in a grave without flowers or ornaments. Shut my words without looking. Let my hands do not write for you, ensure that my dreams you walk. This confinement in my coffin is changed by life. Stop breathing your morning and I eat your memories profane to bite. The land of my mornings are nourished by the dust of your bones and exhume the body of your past so that my worms will devour and feed the lost kiss your forehead ... that does not drop my head on your shoulder for one last time. That there is that last time and be buried with your words in my being. Do not resurface, they can stay there, dead, buried, not alive today to live as I die for you both.
not let night, my head resting on his bed. Do not let me dream with your eyes lost in a lie ... do not leave me a memory that came to be ... do not tempt me with their hands hidden in my cold pillow. Do not let living in this melancholy, not can take over my breathing. That cold mist, pale, lonely, escape through the window of one who dies for not knowing how to live, to kiss and turned back to my memory. Do not forsake me in his lyrics, his body, his skin of his days ... Let alone, more so than it does not realize that it is. Let me live without confirming that it is not having my tongue. What is not having it? Without the sweet flavor of the recollections of a future with a desire to not have to want more than the seconds it belongs ... the mouths speak, at last, that reason should have ...