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These are three people, living within us and around us, are everywhere, in the eyes of many people have seen and many times they have seen in our .

moody: This is the character who does not want to love, that has accepted its existence as it is, has waived his ability to transform. May live in luxury and awards, looks like a winner, but basically the ruler is his temper. Frown brow is what gives it the looks surprised. Not interested in anything really, just show that you are angry. It has no art, only the purchase, and not even really like.

The Rotten, is a hero, a long time that its reflection was launched in an alley or forgotten in a square, is that drunk in the middle of the night des sings a love for the moon. He is willing to laugh at each corner, find the wonder of the world in every minute is a silent character, sleepy. The events of his life did not have a clear boundary between dream and reality. It is a sailor lost without direction is not prepared to his ship ran aground at a port, is everything and nothing can be anywhere, so everyone can laugh. Within it also inhabits a child, in this case, not a moody child, but a child who will not stop laughing, not to accept a world that gives him seriously. Grey hates the world that sometimes haunts him is not made for that, so it's a hero rotten, all liquid and destroys them all is corruptible. He is not at the top of the tower, but does not want, that life is denied, he is in the suburbs, is that space decomposition, which begins to transform the world, but only destroyed. It knows that holding, at the end of the day is only the front of himself, and hence arises the art.


The optimist: Sunrise to him remains a moment of joy, smiles, and can look around and you breathe, you feel glad to be alive, to be in their shoes, but do not know well for that. Always has aroused, as if everything was new. For the first time is opening the eyes, and wonder of everyday detail, a plate of food, a bird, a plant.
inside him there is hope, there is a projection and the idea. Something may be different, there's something different in all things, that the world around him is not all there is, in fact, that world is not made of anything, looks like all living Something, suffer, rejoice, cry, cry, being that it is they who chose something. The optimist gets in life, and goes his ways without surrendering, not to get something done, do it for experience. His art is often like to imitate, to walk following a fat man or made business man. Often

optimistic rotten drunk and born with the poetry to life, sometimes accompanies the rotten optimistic a hill to marvel at the shadows that are produced there in the evening. The ill-tempered with rotten delivered to your pain and cry at the end at last, when with luck and goes out with optimistic also learn to laugh.

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The Discreet Charm of helplessness

Enemies leave its funny when we provoked anger becomes tender. Then all the grievances, the mutual violence, conspiracies, everything must be resolved in an embarrassed hug, a last look full of goodbyes and sirens.

The Follonero interview, talks with Federico Jiménez Losantos on the feast of the twentieth anniversary of the World. His last game abounded in feints and wet bold. Buffaloes were strong. Echoed the prairie. The sons of bitches that I have to put up, smiled Losantos. Do you mean for me? challenged the Follonero. No, how can you ask? Rioja confirmed. Then Frederick was the voice of the COPE franchise. Nothing escaped his intelligent malice. No matter that it was the weather forecast, traffic conditions or a control session the government. Frederick drew his r timid among disqualifications, and other artifacts boric slapstick. It was the immortal Spain waxing, Suresh sheepskins, counting ribs, winning, winning again and little joke.

From his side of the ring, the Sixth rode their commercial batteries. We want a consumer television embrosquile alpha when put next sun, Jaume Roures said, and so tended a bridgehead in the charismatic figure of Jordi Evole, a screenwriter-turned-actor and nurtured in the rich chests Terrat.

broncos were good times. Days of heroes and blood. But time passes and the conflicts that help us live away. Losing an enemy is worse than losing a friend or love. If your friends and your partner will always betray you can get the rough comfort of hate, but if you let an enemy then what? Then nothing, then looking down, then the tips of the shoes, hand in my pocket, I see great, yes, I also ... well I hope there. Goodbye.

Federico Federico is not. They hit a sotanazo and outside is no longer Federico Cope. Nor in the world, although the figure of the outsider grow now that Zapatero wet Pedro J and champagne toast in a hotel bed. Federico alone. Worse than alone. He is accompanied by his memories, the nostalgia of a grandeur that did not happen. I always will want to don Federico, said his family but was a lie. At least I knew.

The reunion between Losantos Follonero and has been the embodiment of sadness. Federico is shorter even than Jordan, and parked side by side to him as a child, he wanted to close the camera brightness of La Sexta. With him went the Minister Sebastian, Zapatero and Pedro J. He was regarded as the brother drunk who vomits at the door after Christmas dinner and disgusts us because we know that sleep alone in a dirty room full of handkerchiefs with stiff semen. All three were laughing. It was the Follonero after hug. Federico was allowed one last cape fainted. Arc across the party opened up the tail of peacock for new friends.

Losantos still smiling. Without understanding exactly who was now. Now that was no longer an enemy. Not even an enemy.

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more foolish than a nettle

What Marx did not know is that the collapse of capitalism would come from the hand of types so little suspected, a priori, as Joan Laporta. What I did not know was that Peter Wheeler publicly reach such levels of intellectual and moral depravity.

Case Cristiano Ronaldo. The Real Madrid spends 94 million euros and is serviced by a football player. Manchester takes 94 million euros and get rid of this player. And the apocalypse. Joan Laporta will pick up with something similar to the economic management of Florentino Perez is imperialist. Peter Wheeler, the nettle, goes off to kindergarten with a comparison between the needs of third world and the expense of Real Madrid. As against the backdrop of global crisis and the alleged irresponsibility of spending so much money that is falling here and there.

A couple of quick thoughts. If Company X - say an electric - acquires 47% of the commercial Y - put a cement plant - 100 million euros is not only imperialist and obscene in times of crisis, it is hailed as a move to imitate a liquid injection on the market that generate proportional movements around it, create jobs that generate consumption that will generate direct and indirect taxes that generate "green shoots" in the economy. Am I someone explains the difference? "I said someone immorality of it? In fact "someone tells me what the hell we are talking about morals? Capitalism is immoral and imperialistic by definition, so we can put into question the system - and I look good - but not that one of its players observe their rules. The signing of Cristiano Ronaldo, sports performance aside, is a colossal financial move. Of those who claim the government every time they put a microphone in front and do not remember talking about the Falcon.

Is it immoral to spend 100 million euros on a player who spend it in three? Valencia asks for fifty kilos Villa and, following the logic of the nettle, which should make after admission is made to build schools in the Congo and finance the fight against malaria. Let me doubts that such a thing happen. If finally the Manchester card to Villa for 52 million euros this money will be spent on alleviating the debt of the whole Che and a bit of luck and common sense to resume construction of the stadium. A fully adequate moral stage it seems.

these days also heard the following thought. How do banks make loans to Real Madrid and not to individuals, SMEs and so many in need? Firstly, it seems only lend money to Real Madrid. Secondly, the banks what they do is a risk assessment (rather lax and so far we are where we are) based on which they decide. If a bank lends you ten is going to win seventies. Not financial charity but business prospects. Was not so urgent that the banks had money and confidence for all re-roll?

Returning to the case of Iberian Press, publishing group that owns the suprascrito of nettles, a champion of fair distribution of wealth. I guess that did not tell Moll eggs instead of buying the radio 97.7 a pasture will give the money to children's villages. I guess. Although, of course, the same is that yo soy un capitalista sin corazón y el peso de mi duro sombrero de copa me impide pensar.

Miren, si se trata de darle una patada en el culo a este sistema económico depredador, asesino y sin futuro, cuenten conmigo. Pero para hacer el gilipollas, no. Eso ya lo sé hacer yo solito. Y me sale de vicio.

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Lifes

Votar en la Comunitat Valenciana o eres del PP o es un puto acto de fe. Y de fe ando escaso, en descubierto, en números rojos que no son tan rojos.

Descartado el Partido Popular por razones de incompatibilidad ética, estética, económica, religiosa and legal, let's review the other alternatives.

The first pursuer, supposedly a few moons away, is the PSPV.

What is the PSPV thing? A party boat soon deeply mediocre. Remember those football teams that reach the last stretch bottomless championship and you do not know if they defend or attack. Has a shield with a history, but that shirt pissed away to win games and mobilizes the rival fans, even for what may be atavistic threat. Also to those boxers who dangerously accustomed to kiss the canvas and do not feel safe outside their horizontal up. One thing is the dignity of the defeated blah blah blah, and another to be a package. Packages do not like anyone. No fatal blonde conquer when you are already dawn and closing and the last ice water glass. Only slightly sickened by the gorilla that will launch the wet asphalt with a grimace of disgust.

The PSPV should define a strategy and carry that passion, all all costs.

If you want to oppose destructive cojo. But then we must not fail to send the latest opponent to hell with fixed bayonets. That was the strategy of Aznar in the early nineties. Glib but effective. They do not know. They serve the dish in pan (Gürtel, Fabra, Alperi, Orange Market, waste, health, education, and above Rus Spain) and lack teeth.

want to make constructive opposition, because even better. Then every day must embody a vast effort to explain their project of society, what is its turn to the left, what will be reality one day after governing. What Anguita called program, program, program. Neither are good for that. Because they have no project. Only fear.

When mildly criticized the PP thundered F1 F1 Will not you? speak ye. And did not say. Silent as whores by a handful of votes. When the VCF accused enemies of the people of Valencia, fell silent again as whores. When the statute, silent as prostitutes and then ran to mourn for his honor outraged. The problem is that not intended PSPV else to do the same as the PP but the pasta ends up in your pocket. With cases of urban corruption three quarters of the same. Are the same dogs and almost identical necklace. Until the PSPV no longer a den of technocrats flowerpower and define themselves, until they give preference to the substance to the image, until they know what the hell they want to do, do not count.

The following training is endearing. Commitment, shabby umbrella under which the U.S. wet Bloc and was stillborn. Needed months to close a deal because they pissed, I think, for who would be number 3 for Alicante. Bravo. Stupendo. It was a formidable statement of intent. As for the reasons of Europe they know. Divided into Esquerra i País, remnants of the fundamentalist wing Projecte obert people only needed to finish Morera set fire to roost. Now tell me that Gloria Mark and does not dye his hair and does not talk to taxi drivers. She wiped out critical voices. She'll know. And the Bloc? What the hell is the Bloc? As soon as they define what is for them to Valencianism what their political and social and cultural project we will begin to talk. At the moment niet.

Outside the parliamentary spectrum coexist various political forces of the mask. On one side the extreme right. No comment. Cover your nose and keep walking, please. After the hanging of the coverings, the bullfighting and big-nosed game lords over fifty who learned to drive with a seat panda. These do not count.

Across the ring, nationalist and regionalist. ERPV which is a bit like the fake brother of every wedding, which came to drink the free beer and see if she bites her panties off to the bathroom to Lupe, the chambermaid frivolous. UV, dead. CV, dead. ONV? Well, apart from that I have personal affection Carles Choví their training not offer me much. On the one hand a rather timid attempt to overcome the language conflict. In the remaining subjects ... a second that I read the program and now I come. Give the impression of being one arsonist fireman who lived in a small hole. Remember the song? I do.

So in the upcoming regional I have it fucked. Very fucked up. I think I need to come Leire Pajin to clear my doubts.

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MIRYMOR

is horrible, guys, horrible. I have no sources of credit, masked thieves whisper in the mist, I sing a queer bird from the coals that MIR and MOR ... return to action. Terrible, gentlemen. Where is Al Gore when you need him?
On Wednesday, if it prevents any of you (fanfare, roll, howling) great show of monologues, stories, dancing and introduction to Hold on water birth in the room Convent 55, former Grand Cayman - very near the North Station parallel to the street Pelayo -). From a quarter past ten at night.

Admission is free, so you just have to sit down, order your favorite combo, light a cigarette and prepared for over an hour of intense enjoyment.

This is the third time MIR and MOR act and could be the last. So if you missed the fall of the Berlin Wall, if it were at Cape Canaveral for the moon mission and not in any naranjito keychain, do not let that history will again set aside. Run to see MIR and MOR and win distinction, happiness, elegance and good sex.

Wednesday June 3. In the convent room 55, from ten-fifteen ... The MIR and MOR wonderful *!!

* The address of this page is not necessarily agree with the adjective.

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HEARINGS

Those who have gone through Forlati home - back the silver spoons, rogues, that have few - know that the framers of AU, Urban Agenda, embark on new project to boost by way of the intimate musical letter Valencia.

may be true that some things are valued accessible. I have the fortune to meet the AU freshly baked in the office. This is what has to be well connected, friends, one does not make suits as Serrano street, but they bring the AU. I would say this has nothing committed, but shut up, shut up you never know when we will have to scream in the cold dungeon of you that want an egg while the executioner we applied, for instance, photomontages of Alfonso fronted Rus on the body of Rita Barbera.

to what we were going that I leave the subject. Constantinople whole place, greets and strongly recommends that the project take a look Hearings. As Forlati said that overnight is misguided and dissonant chords intensive Masters - suicide - will go directly to the Favorites category.

Sometimes we are so busy complaining that smells of mothballs Valencia, that nothing is done, when a group of talented workers, artistic sensitivity and flair, we offer something valuable, we hesitate. The smell around like scalded cats, we applied the tip of the tongue fearful, and rub with fingertips and tend not take our word for anything. It is not the case. Who tried it knows.

Long life, intense night, good music. You know that from the walls of Constantinople would not lie about these things. With things to dance (and other first conjugation verbs) do not play.

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Numancia or Stalingrad

After the shameful episode of censorship Enric González returns to the rostrum of the country. Without revanchism. With elegance. Relief closes his article with the following reflection: It is true that we are surrounded, the unknown is whether this site after the end of Numancia deserve or Stalingrad.

you know? I I choose to Stalingrad. On this side of shame as we have fifty million dead and counting. But the enemy will eventually run, want to see them eat their own flesh ill during the flight, I see you shiver, harassment and fear, I find his grave in the snow. Do not arrive alive at the end of combat, you and I do not see our cities free, but each passing day, every shooter who bet on the windows of the ruined buildings left columns of artillery and the black belly of a bomber step towards defeat. Surrounded, but not defeated. If they came to raid our houses at night to find a barrage of lead behind every door. If you jumped the garden wall to set fire to sleep, to find an iron in his throat. And when trying to retrace his steps, then yes, then fly the Silver Bridge. What do if we got used to war?

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Surrounded

Bad news for everyone. Enric González censors in the country. Enric, for whom at this point still do not know, is one of the best writers in the English press, an educated man, quiet, intelligent, sensitive, ironic, desperate, wild-profile detective. A man attentive to the human heartbeat of each story, an unmasking of trileros an outstanding stylist, a guy who conveys honesty when he writes, and that's a lot, that's almost everything. It also gave us two great books that I would not label as "travel." Londes Stories and Stories of New York are different. Stories of Rome will also be something else. Many days biennacieron the phone call from a friend. Have you read the article by Enric? Then all was well. One entered his gallery, I enjoyed it and knew that this day would not be time lost. Enric wanted to many times, many times we said, damn, how we would like to take a whiskey with him in the back of every bar, while the other side of the glass the night promises to open its wings and several hours of gentle confidences, wild laughter, of respectful silence. So today is a shitty day, day bastard, lost day. Enrique Gonzalez has said what we think and we all suffer in this neighborhood. What if I wanted to mention it's an unmasking.
Every blog, every city under siege, every Constantinople, each market, each old neighbor Bar reproduce this article. We multiply. You feel a little more decent this morning doing this, making the speaker tried one of ours. With your permission. With all due respect. SURROUNDED




I have not yet seen the start of Operación Triunfo, in Telecinco. In fact, at the time of writing (19.30 on Wednesday), the body asks me to abstain. But when the hypothetical reader has this newspaper in your hands, or on screen, things have worsened. And I, in all likelihood, I will have self-harmed to an appliance, a television, specifically. So, I've seen OT. And I will have attended the presentation of Ramoncín, champion of intellectual property and copyrights, as a member of the illustrious jury. Presumably, then, my morning and today, I will go even worse mood. Who would tell one that would end up longing for Risto Mejide.Lo can go wrong, goes wrong. We already knew. Still, it is difficult not only to the alleged signing of Francisco Rivera, known as Kiko or Paquirrín, by Know What You Did (La Sexta). The grace of this program usually consisted of the apparent distance which addressed the television monstrosities: issued pieces of garbage, but garbage was employed, geeks phenomena other spaces, other chains, and wrapped the product with a sarcastic irony. The addition of Mr. Rivera, as stand-up comedian, stand-up comedian apprentice or whatever constitutes a qualitative change: Know What You Did incorporates their own monster. If Ana Rosa Quintana Esteban is in Bethlehem, they have to Mr. Rivera. Frankly, I do not think they can laugh at each other. If anything, they can compare the magnitude of their respective tragedias.Todo this leads to pesimismo.Uno sees everything black. I do not wish the worst, but any day, any company, will cut the salaries of workers to finance the gambling stock owners. I know I exaggerate, that these things do not happen. But before things happened not like Ramoncín and Paquirrín, and you see. As I said Manolo Vázquez Montalbán, we are surrounded.

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Sweden (I)

I exiliaré to a cold country where mid-afternoon but did not enter a coffee Haga, for example, to look at the candor of the parishioners. In a city whose center extends a forest of leaves frost and bare trunks behind which the deer hide. Semidesert sail between islands where gray crows is related to the penguin and there is always a guy who pushes a cart in the yard left. Let me carry the cargo of timber when the ferry is gone. Göteborg, pronounced Jiotevor. Industrial city in southern Sweden with less than a million people heading for a pit in the North Sea. We owe to the hospitality of my cousin Louis's stay and a bottle of rum Santa Teresa a few afternoons in glory while the other side of the lake near the temperature drops to five degrees below zero.

four days were barely enough to take the pulse of a place that moves with looseness between the fantastic and the everyday pedestrian. The tourist has spoiled perpetual temptation to remove the camera lens of the domes of the churches and photographed with a mixture of anger and devotion holes free parking in the center, anywhere. The miracles of public transport, a tram network as taken from a spy movie, a specific bus service, naaaaasda haaaaarlaaaanda. The Swede played first language seems a goofy, vaguely related to English. The Swedes, lived at first, some guys seem willing to discuss anything but. Confident, smooth. Even the proud local Hell's Angels, aesthetic part, are willing to open the door of the smoking room of the Rock Baren, yes, if you take one drink in hand. Special attention to the blackjack tables in which the positions are paid with tokens exchangeable for mixed drinks.

must be it, bad habit of tourists accustomed to horror, which makes the animal is feeling joy instant snow in the dense forests or stepping on the thick ice of a large lake. In the Midwest there is another much bigger. As the province of Andalusia or so. That must be it, a thirst quenched at once ancient and alluvium.

Several times I thought that there (Or a similar place, I miss Norway - and I hope to carry that on account of Comtessa installed and as temperatures rise - and Finland, an old obsession I owe to my friend Jesus) would be happy. Could be folded into that life and those terrible images. Sorry for italianófilos of the blogosphere, but the Mediterranean at the end going to be that I have just. If anything the bay of Javea and the rest I can be. In fact they are already doing. Of course, eventually, if I go to visit, let us know in time so they will not open in long underwear. None of you deserve to go through such a predicament. There

I leave a penultimate challenge is the city Göteborg of lost gloves. Guess why? The solution in the second report of Sweden.

All this, of course, with the brown, excellent travel companion and exile.

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Holmes

Holmes Detective late. Should be in the village of Lougbrought before dinner, but a strong storm was obstructing progress horses car wheels sank heavily into the mud of the road. The water became exhausted smoke in contact with the rump of the horses and the coachman, wrapped in the box to not only be a shade between the quivering yellow lanterns, did not remove them one step further however much abused blasphemy and whip. Frustrated, Holmes, came to the window of the door, stuck his head and shouted to the man to stop. He was about dusk and asked him to stop right there and the car departed from the path. We spend the night here, he said, the shelter of the trees. The man in the box did not argue. They followed the main road for hours, happily trotting from the golden autumn trees and wide stretches of red earth. After the driver followed a shortcut with the hours of darkness and storm, hopelessly lost in the middle of nowhere. When they were off the road, the driver unhitched the horses and got out to open the door of Holmes. Sherlock Holmes protested and in no way going to consent to share the cramped cabin with the man overnight. I remind you sir, Holmes said smugly, that the fault is yours, so do well to sleep with the horses. Here I leave a blanket if needed. The driver, something dark and dripping, opened anyway. A flash fire at night and Holmes saw the black gleam of the barrel of the gun that was pointing to his forehead and cold anger, resentment stale completely familiar eyes. Watson Damn, you! Elementary Holmes friend ...

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