" The heat woke me up at midnight. And sweat. The body of the woman made of earth, wrapped in earth crust is broken up as if melting into a puddle of mud. I was swimming in sweat dripping from her and I missed the air needed to breathe. Then I got up. The woman was sleeping. From his mouth the sound of bubbles bubbled very similar to the rattle.
I went out to find the air, but the heat not chasing me off from me.
And there was no air, only at night and still hampered, heated by the dog days of August.
No air. I had to suck the very air out of my mouth, stopping it with his hands before he left. He felt it coming and going, more and less, until it became so thin that it leaked through my fingers for good.
say forever. "
not my words wild and board, and my fingers clumsy and awkward achieved praise in the right way to what I consider the great work of Juan Rulfo.
A look out of our guts. A sighting of the unknown. An enigma that blood and earth challenge us to solve. An encounter with death and eternity. A trip to Comala.
irrefutable The digitization of literary beauty.
The meeting of paper and ink with photography in motion.
I went out to find the air, but the heat not chasing me off from me.
And there was no air, only at night and still hampered, heated by the dog days of August.
No air. I had to suck the very air out of my mouth, stopping it with his hands before he left. He felt it coming and going, more and less, until it became so thin that it leaked through my fingers for good.
say forever. "
Pedro Páramo. Juan Rulfo.
not my words wild and board, and my fingers clumsy and awkward achieved praise in the right way to what I consider the great work of Juan Rulfo.
A look out of our guts. A sighting of the unknown. An enigma that blood and earth challenge us to solve. An encounter with death and eternity. A trip to Comala.
irrefutable The digitization of literary beauty.
The meeting of paper and ink with photography in motion.
0 comments:
Post a Comment