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The book is written from a panoramic point of view over this post modern era full of spiritual illness, poverty and evil ideologies.
All the book illustrated by the author.
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MUNDO POSTMODERNO
Hoy está de moda estar de moda
Es el infierno moderno.
Las chicas se desviven por morirse de hambre
con sus piernas de alambre.
Se achica dos talles el cerebro del hombre
{algunos de renombre)
El amor se ha virtualizado.
La virtud de puntillas se ha marchado
.Sociedad que busca saciedades.
Soledad que esconde suciedades
.Personajes mediáticos que duran lo que un lirio
Parejas que transan en la noche efímeros delirios.
En total desamparo los chicos de la calle
calladamente se desbandan como aves de paso.
El hombre calza nuevo número:
zapatilla del dos mil.
El progreso se acerca a un punto sin retorno.
Momento de pensar sin miedo a la verdad.
Corregir un poco el rumbo de este mundo.
De vuelta a lo profundo.
Tal vez encuentre paz.
TRANSLATION:
Today the world is fashionable.
A fashionable world.
(The modern hell).
Girls are starving, pushing up themselves to death
.(With their extremely narrow legs).
Human brains are becoming smaller
(two sizes smaller).
They are going faster than their own rollers.
There are some children working just like slaves...
nobody cares..
Virtue? Quietly has gone.
Love? is a virtual love.
Society? lost in lonely dirty thoughts..
Anybody looks for Prudence
through this outrageous days.
A monkey is looking to its faceinto a mirror..
.Its face is turning red in shame..
Please, world... just stop and think!
Correct the rout and pray for peace...
Excerpt
ABORTO
Botón de rosa,en el césped verde de la esperanza.
El sol ardoroso de la mañana
pronto lo oxidará.
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DESOCUPADOS:
Sobre un tapete verde, hostil e indiferente,
giran y se entrechocan
pintadas de calvas,
las oportunidades de la gente
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RUIDO:
------------
Taladra tus oídos,
tu silencio, tu quietud, tu juventud.
Tu temprana senectud.
te extrapola, te trepana, te retrae,
te limita, te lima,
tu, tu ,tu.
TRANSLATION: NOISE
Noise clashes, travels,
rushes, roars,
croakes and swims
through our ears.
It itches like tattoo,
to and fro, to and fro.
It is a bug into a brain.
Ideas float without a frame.
It is expanding shocking waves .
(Bombs have broken blocks,
bombs have broken blocks).
We are now
just noisy tools,
making noises with our teeth and boots.
The cream of our screams
The shot of our shout.
Noisy tools, noisy tools,
tools, tools, tools, tools, tools.
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