A good friend journalist, television and perhaps too emotional, but very human quality, is very ill. Do not have a job, no job and copes incomprehension and disgust family. A couple of days ago I went to him and was even weaker than it has ever been. But like a titan. I said he took each day as a gift and that he bore his illness with stoicism and joy. I thought as poeticastro fucking pain deep in cardboard (if yes, sufimiento is a complex phenomenon, gentlemen, but sometimes I come to think that the only real pain is the disease and hunger), and I remembered this poem dark paradoxically, despite to be created "by a poeticastro of shit" has to do with my friend. Their example strengthens anyone.
If happy that all her friends and animals
let him get outside
forest on the outskirts of laughter and vine
not love or forgive
go inside their walls and lock yourself
without adornment in the city of black powder without
city with hunger, thirst and light laughter without
with fear and pain with no promise as a promise
as leprosy silent and without rags
lock yourself with anger without voice and ask for a cancer
thank the lack of women, lack of man
the cold dark, black fire, ice or electricity without bird
acknowledge his message in a bottle
thrown into the sea in a bottle uncovered
and landlocked and no message.
EVERY MAN SHOULD BE ABLE TO ALL THE IDEAS, AND UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WILL BE IN THE ARISING 
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