Acrostic Poems Over Camels

Written February 12.

-El Destino De Las Hojas Blancas-

"A quella sheet language orphan" Don Quixote

Last night, in the final minutes of February Doce (to be more specific were 12:58 AM.), I am approaching an idea. She ended up giving form and content in the Thirteen early February, when the hours are positioned on the number two, and the minute hand, barely gave way sign at number 32. If you do account, you will see that it took exactly one hour, thirty-four minutes. (In this story, ignore the existence of the latter).

start by explaining the birth of that idea. Like when, you know, I will expand on the how:

-front of my desk, invaded by a revolution of leaves, where disorder and diversity are the two large flags, find a lone white sheet. The rest were leaves belonging to magazines, newspaper clippings, summaries of Economy tickets, concerts and vivid, long hours scribbling products to telephone reminders kills oblivion, and a host of variables.

"My eye fell on that sheet orphan language: Illustrated just nothing, a simple disregard for show or send us something. So, I embodied an idea, or rather, a question that ended up being the title of this kind of story (immediate inspiration.)

U n pencil cried and even demanded,
a fine tip "Don Quixote.

White Sheet

Honestly, I sent distress. It because of its inability to change their situation of dependency with the writer, cartoonist, painter, homemaker, student, and a myriad of individuals who are able to intervene in the absence of figures and lines.

Thus, as every object around us, the white sheets, drown in the desire to convey language. We have the gift, the commitment to meet that need. Each one, each physical element, gives feeling, gives identity, puts a role, a purpose.

Without hesitation, I found between these towers centimetrales sheets and books, a pencil cried and even demanded, a fine tip. With him, I began to settle, without hesitation, lack of community, no longer desired by the lone white sheet. Gradually transformed into a large container of lines, full of product ideas of his own conviction, and paid.

Inevitably, was taking identity. Those feel like they were filled, and the victorious White Leaf changed his name written sheet.

Now let's talk a written page:

"My word" Don Quixote

tell regret that we are in a small dilemma. (It was not my intention to take them to a wreck without direction, a direction without meaning. But my imagination played a trick on us)

a written page, has the power to change. (Among those alternatives mentioned some as the changes in mood, thought, world, etc.). But we were who changed his name.

here myself, I am confused, and likely as not able to understand the written recently: Let's see ....

"I write, that I read, yet influenced in your state. You into my world. Seeking how to disconnect the present. Play with your imagination, project images, sounds in your mind. Now I dominate, I have hunted with my best weapon: words.

It's wonderful what you can do to give life to a leaf. It's amazing literary world. It's wonderful imagination. Interpretation is unclear, as everyone has a different interpretation, a single thought.

On the latter I cling. If you think of fun reading this, well. Are you bored well (lost time on me). If you loved, agradécemelo. But if I did anything, well ...

keep trying ... ..

"That Dream To Fly There" Don Quixote