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bypass a dream ... Lee

In the passing of a month and a half, a few days, I was going unsettling times, as if a certain type of anxiety compelled me to do something strange, so I was impatient to search for a different feel, perhaps unconventional experience an emotion. It was weird at first, because the times were becoming disruptive. I took his head helplessly, wondering where this annoyance sprang. This phenomenon disrupted my concentration all day, not doing my work study or some gadget that was supposed to end. So many times it was still a hard to beat though, and so the contradictions ensalsarse returned when none of us, readers, we hope. Define

emotions from a scientific level, an indirect simple. Ramón Sopena, English lexicographer Precepta emotion as a mood disturbance characterized by a visceral phenomena organic produce and often translates into gestures, attitudes and other forms of expression. Then the emotion that some perceived periodically Karma near drove me to experience other sensations. I mean, go with the ever experience before becoming what you're looking for is indudablemnete fantastic, just clarifying whether this will produce an emotion comforting. In this case let the emotion sought, I find: That's an adventure and I can even say that the meaning of life part of this conjecture.

The routine that I like as are other individuals, is monótoma: Get up, work, running from one place to another, getting into trouble, until the stress. Sometimes I get up not to be distracted by reading during the morning, making life all this bureaucracy, and out of it is emotionally captivating. So I had to get out of this pounding punishment, for want of a way to plan a way out, trying to find something new to get distracted.

One Sunday I left the room where I live, very early. I walked the hallway trying to find the master key in the pockets of jeans. I opened the door and looking up, the morning spread to the offspring of a flower that turned blue in the whole frozen garden of the adjoining house, the flower was the first thing I saw.

Suddenly there was a slip, a connection that woke the memory of a dream I had as a child. There are many dreams in life, but few memory that stores with great warmth, as if the memory would give valuable support throughout life, and while he remembered the excitement I was looking for I besieged, I captured with such an impact that images of the dream began to roll in my imagination frigidity so I finally feel that I'm telling readers, provoked a strong emotional carnage.

At the time I started to remember fluently. I well remember in the dream I was walking a hill into the street, going very slowly, observing everything around, I wanted to quicken the pace, but the time I stopped, fighting, pushing my body to keep pace with the others, but I could not, so I adjusted my pace and was safe. He saw a city proud of shaking buildings had extensive hardwood and surfeited with children. Some correteanban to charm others, to touch them and see them very still, frozen, imagine readers. Then other children wearing white shirts and shorts, looking for a hiding place of refuge in the game, while one was behind a huge tree by counting the numbers. I wanted to go to become disenchanted, then go hide, and interspersed among them, but just walking around watching what was happening. Now I reflect and say that perhaps the dream mission was only to observe what happened.

At the other end of the street, many little girls were playing attitudes and statues, and many harnesses had braids in his hair, and other had ribbons that adorned his blond hair. Some children flew kites, yes, as if they had a life, like great birds with their whistles gently dispersed throughout the dream, but most touching was to see the floors filled with flowers of all sizes, shades and colors, was the more flowery and beautiful. The landscape was a natural rimbonbante box. That was the most shocking exact moment, just remember I was stunned, that exact time was the cure to solve that bit of electricity. Emotion that I had found Mr. readers, since that time may do what I could do in the dream: Cut flowers of gardens. I always liked white flowers resembling a leprechaun hat, and the clear turquoise daisies I liked more. I just need a scissors to cut flowers and a bag for collection, so I returned to my room. With only scissors I have short nails of my feet, occasionally the sleeves of my old jackets and some old poles that serve as a mop. With the same scissors cut flowers with thick stems, which are difficult to start, and of course, also serve to cut the elastic stems, which are very rough on the part with the plant, however, filled with striking his form.

I put the scissors in the back pocket of jeans because if I walked with scissors in hand, everyone out there, certainly not come close to me and to think I am a crazy mad at someone you know than my ability and would look a salute to wonder aloud not wait.

I had already consegudio necessary, so I went with some trepidation to the streets, that emotion vibrating in his veins. I walked three blocks uphill and I found the first garden, the more carefully, there got to see flowers brown, violet, orange and red, the red color had a very attractive, and said they want to start. I had a lot of patience to get red flowers. I was choosing only the best, I put in the bag until I heard a shrill cry of the owner of the garden, saying:! Hell, let alone flowers, go do other things instead of wasting their time! I left frightened, so I followed the road with a bunch of flowers in hand.

I walked all afternoon amid gardens and parquet, fascinating with feelings and emotions that society gave me with his kindness, iracundez, bitterness and many people, very, very absorbed by what he did. Best of all is that I could solve this dream was connected with the same excitement in my life that led me to explore a new experience in a new day.

Nothing and no one stopped me.

Upon arriving home, I threw the flowers into the trash and went to bed watching the ceiling.

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posarte

Come with your feet wind

In the summer lying on the cornea

trees.

Come dig my body absorbing the words

And the blood of war litter

a path towards where my hands burst

On a feverish days and we met

on the table

Discuss the challenges,

Fear

Summer,

Sadness,

nocturnal birds.

Those back

As fruits hanging fruits
's trousseau of smiles mature.
And I feel more human!
Although the memory ceiling is my sadness

Detonating
Al spray trees that hides gnawing
When this short time.

And tejerte about winter is tender and tart.

Come and open the door pale
As if you found my pain
Sleeping in the rusted out of my room
And let you cry on flight
Beyond Where the streets
crusty mud rubs my dream.

So I look like a child On this land

mirrors Watching the sky mestizo
your root
Scaring Your last line

Your nose burned Where I dug
posabas
Where winter howls

The lonely resting.

And come to build those sweet nights sneak
poetry!
to disappear into the belly of pasture rest
While the poem Pearl and lonely. That now awake

Among oysters
Among wolves,
Among my hands.

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poetry

And I said,

I do not like to talk about me!
No sir,
This to disclose is not of men, he said

And it was between landscape
Yes
Slowly, slowly going

But runs like an afternoon

Shrugging his wings into the wind nausea houses.

Yes, here goes ... slowly going

Running as an evening
to shrink its wings into the wind
nausea houses.

The constant is that I'll never

after her run as an evening Because
Shrugging his wings into the wind nausea

my house! Escaping the crusts
shiver Stopping to swallow the shadows of trees.

And I am afraid to go back there!
Leave me alone, I said I know that

This to disclose is not a guy thing.
And boy, escape with the shiver of crusts
to swallow the shadows of trees and will not return
told me

And I felt so bad about letting go and
So sad, so lonely
,
Between autumn and my brown house.

I could not help crying
That was after her. I stopped slowly


Is it that I remember as a child
When my voice was lost
nausea in the wind in my house?
And he was right to remain silent and watch me fall

pain
Where I am now on the winter and alone.
And if you ever find

death Wanting to reach

Spread it!

And you will tell.

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The tenant of the poet of the fifth of the birds. Mad love

The poet

wanted to write a poem, then

was the place where I always wrote,
He packed in his bag
Some poems,
A paper
a pen,
few cigarettes and a bird

And when he arrived
was installed under a tree on hayfields
long hours and thought about what to write

When he realized the time and night did not have any cigarette


But a plucked bird found in words on her skin,
That said, the poet Lord took me out of the bag to play with you!