Losing White Discharge

Change ... and short.


Death. Thirteenth tarot arcana. Meaning: However, something cut. Leave the past behind. Sudden change, for better or for worse.


Interestingly, this letter is not literal, does not mean that you will die in thirteen days or anything like that.

say that psychologists say that people lie more by phone or in person than in writing. However, a psychopath created by Andreu Martín (crime writer and psychologist) argued that the most effective way of lying was writing. So the writers lie or tell the truth? In the movie V for Vendetta (I can only half comics for reading ^ ^), the Wachowskis say an artist lies to tell the truth and a politician to hide .

I still I have not very clear why I write, and until I find out I do not want to continue on this path. Keep writing itself, but for me ... I do not know if I want to be a professional writer. I do not know.

I started writing almost without realizing it, and I do not remember why, in a Word 95, which then became 98 when I fell in love for the forums. With Internet (yes, yes, with the Shift mayest that as Juan Manuel de Prada will we reserved only to God, xD a very good article) I found that not was so rare, that many people my age had similar literary tastes, and I was leaving the juvenile novels Periscope to expand horizons with the rains of recommendations that I fell for those readers. It's been a couple of years (I think) and grow. Some I like them, some badly, but most still have my respect.

Then came the fashion blogs, which looks set to stay here for a while. Well, now that I think what I write, with the fashions never know nowadays. Only time tells what fashions change the world and what not.

I got hooked to the blog of Ozymandias, as long as a day of things in technology, and some of his colleagues. They talked about the things they liked and disliked, the geeks Meetups unforgettable night of paranoia that entertain but then reread what you've written and die of shame, but do not want to correct you do not lose authenticity.

And at some point between March and April of last year I made this blog. Black background to highlight the white letters on the computer screen, simple, functional design. "It is not only beat us" in honor of my Captain Alatriste and Perez-Reverte (father and daughter), authors of the book and my new release in the fencing. The subtitle is somewhat cumbersome, so I thought at the time.

another site I had to write.

And, gentlemen, I will close it.

has served me for fun, play, laugh or blush, and share critical praise with other bloggistas living in different parts of the country. But I find no compelling reason to keep writing here. I am also very paranoid, Oo and I always wonder what would happen if a hacker who does not like what I say here are my ID and more things and spoil my computer or put cameras in my house y. .. good, that I just wrote is bullshit, but you see, I can not develop their imagination and be logical and rational 24 hours.

So if you want to write lies to tell a truth (ie, novel), I have the Word. And if I want to keep a diary of my life (this blog because I can not call every day), I'll buy a nice book in stationery and write nonsense without shame tooodas later, without correcting anything, because I know that no one will read ... at least, and if I can help, until I'm dead.

To those who you answer: thanks for your messages. And before you answer this, I pray, no dramatics. ^ ^ Uu No "Oooooh, but penaaaaa," because I do not feel no pain:-p if not, close it. Those who
do not answer but they walk by here from time to time: twice thanks.
When you enter the spam messages that came before it put the word verification: I appreciate you, man, but you deserve a real job.

What else I can say at this farewell?


So long and good night.

Miléna Velba Et Nadine Jansen

The cover boy

did not know his name, nor needed.

had just left the bags in the cabin and said goodbye to my friends, who were testing the resistance of the bunks, to give me a ride and explore the ship. I took a book and my mp3 and if found a quiet place to read.

After seeing several fellow travelers and provide a lot of laps, walked around the four bridge deck watching the waves breaking against the ship's hull and the wind gave me in the face with such force that did not stop surprising me.

The snack-bar tables were nearly empty except for a few Italian cocks little girls at one end, two teachers in another and him.

I think it was the saddest young person I've ever seen. That's what attracted me to him since the first time I saw him.

was at the far end of the bar and people sitting in a chair with headphones on discman ears and playing a guitar. And how he played ...

Knowing that I could keep hands in pockets standing there, I sat at two tables of it, distance does not take sufficiently respectful of privacy and to listen ... but to no avail, because then came five turkeys Madrid and sat at the table that stood between the boy and I, hanging out and looking at me brazenly. Bother me much, but gave no proof. He did not flinch, and I keep wondering if those idiots also annoy or if he was so absorbed that they do not pay attention.

foot climbed into the chair next door and I read some time with your music background. The melodies ratified my theory of deep sadness. When the turkeys were tired, they left and I hardly noticed it (and no, I must admit, what I was reading in the book, I was rereading the same page over and over again).

He was very focused, and frowning in the more complicated compositions. Bored of the book and haunted by his brilliant interpretation Polly, I took pen and paper and I started drawing. This was a habit she had acquired when I was bored in class, which put me to portray a fellow of interesting features ... not handsome, but rare.

is the best way to study the traits of someone, reproducing yourself.

The boy had dark eyes, but I could not see much more because they looked the guitar constantly. The nose, median. The chin was accurate, brief but noticeable: character. Something pointy eyebrows, dark unkempt hair that covered half of his left ear, tanned skin. Thin lips and elongated ... ah, the feature easier, because he never moved. Musician's hands, of course, elegant and long. He wore a red hooded jacket and jeans Quicksilver.

do not know how long it was before he got up and left, but had less light. I waited a few minutes before back to my cabin.

At night I saw him glancing dinner in the dining room a woman with dyed blonde hair seemed to be her mother, apparently a normal person. His face remained unchanged.

not see him again until the next morning. I sat listening to my mp3, boring, same chair where I had sat the previous evening, when he appeared out of nowhere and sat in the front seat he found, on the other side of the pool. I froze. Should I go over and introduce myself? What could I say?

"Hello, are you the guy on the guitar? You play well, man." But what I wanted know was why he was always so sad.

I watched a couple of times, but I had my defense funky sunglasses. I got to climb the stairs to the terrace and so have an excuse to pass by your side ... but did not dare to introduce myself. Above the cold wind cleared my head and down again ... I dared not speak a second time.

Later, looking for my friends, I saw him in the living room of blue sofas, playing his guitar, with his mother and two girls (17 and 12 years appeared more or less) that seemed to her sisters. I got the feeling that little more attention made him the most or the mother, who would better relationship with her ... but only thought so because he was expressionless.

was not going to talk in front of his family, if it was hard to talk when alone. I sat a while, I read, I left. Upon returning, I sat with some friends and one of them, a rare and special girl there ever told me that if I had noticed the guy with the guitar. Then he said he had heard his mother call ... were Italian and his name was Marco.

What would have happened if he had spoken? Had he kept quiet at me blankly, he would face would have laughed or not understand a word of what he said in English? It would have been a good story to remember. And I took it, a coward.

What he thought when he saw me? "Come on, if the aunt who sat here yesterday," or perhaps "Another leading headphones, I like him." Or for that matter to imagine thoughts of others: "I wish to approach this aunt talk so weird, maybe we have things in common," I am attracted by its lively and cheerful look ...".

I never saw him speak or smile. And the sadness was etched in every movement, every feature, in their eyes.

Funny how it all began in an Italian port ...

Nadine Jansen Bra Potos

Does everyone have it?

say yes, only the foolhardy believe they have no fear, they ignore it, and that brings problems to the final. They say that if you confront your fears are brave, and if you flee from him, a coward.

Fear can be used as a weapon, and is the most powerful and damaging. Like a disease that comes from within and without symptoms, can not detect ... or will not, because it makes you think why you, and that is very unpleasant. Yann Martel wrote

Chapter 59 of Life of Pi dedicated to fear, full of metaphors and similes very significant ... I do not know if there will be right about something, but worth reading. Actually

conquer fear is very fast, difficult and expensive, because you have to question you stuff yourself, but not impossible. In fact, it takes less than a second, almost instantly, in defeat.

How? Well, each person has his theory, but I always see in and around me the same thing: the fear is due when you recognize. It is a subtlety in your head that makes the difference before and after.

But that classify people between cowardly, brave and reckless in the manner they have to deal with the fear ... What is it? Clichés, nothing more. The Gypsy dominate the film, in novels and brave cowards in real life. But a person can not be classified in one of these three status and remain so throughout life, I think. Circumstances, situations that will bring you live your attitude to a problem, a fear.

We want to be brave and kill the evil dragon, like our fictional superheroes, but most of us flinch and we stay still if the problem is not ours and some few daring do something crazy without thinking about the consequences of their actions.

Be afraid ... have ... like an object or a person, something palpable. Well it is not.

Fear is an irrational state in which we sink when we have a problem. It would take a different name for each way to deal with fear in every person, because, gentlemen, dealing with fear is to face our own heads, our inner dragons, the black abyss that we all in some part of our soul, our head or our consciousness.

The contradiction is part of our human condition.

Who recognizes his evil? Who denies accepting them or resigned? Who can beat yourself and move on? Who is brave?

Best Way To Paint Metal Clothes Poles

Breeding fear ravens, My Chemical Romance

The CreaJoven of Murcia is an art competition dedicated to young people between 16 and 23 years that offers attractive prizes for work in theater, film, literature (prose and poetry), painting, comics, photography, food and who knows what else.

This year, that I have 16, will participate in film (I'm the writer of a short that we will do my high school ^ ^), comic book (I do the script and a friend does the drawing) and literature ( that I'll think of something ...).

These three pages of comics I put here are from the cartoon "Flora Rostrobruno, Jesus Galvan, who won the award last year. Just click to enlarge and read it.

More news about my life:
"I stopped biting my nails and watched amazed how they grow so round and matched. O_o How odd that so little hands do not look my trucker.
"I've done an earring in his left ear. It hurt for a day. But it is beautiful!
"My sister and my mother have teamed up to cut my hair ... Failure to yield! > ___ <

What could have eight days I spent in Italy with the school? For power, yes, but no win. Anyway, we know that the trips are all the same wherever you go.