remember that was my house, so happy, reading the essay Analysis of Neoplatonism parabolic bull Schopenhauer, when the doorbell rang. It was the delivery of e certified letter with acknowledgment of receipt. I suppose you understand my anguish, my fear that when Pheidippides peevish climbed the stairs of my building. As ever I have not wanted to give my driving license I do not know why and, therefore, a traffic ticket could not be, there were only two possibilities: either it was notified that I was elected to a polling station, or was notified that I was going to bullfighting. In the bad, but I had luck.
I consider to flee to the mountains and make wildlife, including boarding a boat, first class ticket, and start a new life in tropical Africa ... I thought so many things ... However, I am a bull and a European city, accustomed to comforts, a language and a cattle ranch, and then I came to the conclusion that successful was easier for me to death that the attempt to adapt to difficult conditions, to an existence without cubata I did not want.
The move was complicated, in a slim box of dimensions which could hardly move my huge bovinitat, ¡a box without air conditioning! To comfort me, I thought conditions strength suffer worst tourists flying with Ryanair at least I could eat everything I like vinguera without paying any charges.
I arrived at my destination, it could have been any city or town square with tuna, and there I spent days, weeks, time engaged in outdoor pesatges, draws, doping analysis, shaving horns and other human occupations, and mental time a band played the fantasy of flight, or revenge, and another for the development of a rational strategy permetera I save my precious life. Although at first I tried, no way I could concentrate on reading the essay by Schopenhauer, the only book that I had left into the yard because the cover had drawn a little angel playing the lyre and not considered dangerous. The side of my brain fantastic beef was produced films that, at least, helped me escape me my extreme. Fantasies such that archive when Tuna bribe the guard, escapes and becomes an operation cosmetic surgery, contracted services and Belarussian Mafia acquires a false passport with which blood can travel the world without fear of being found. Brutal fantasies like that when bribes the watchman Tuna, s'esmola horns, a hijacked aircraft against Ryanair and Prints Plaza Monumental de Las Ventas. However, the square is empty and the passengers, crew members and Tuna parachute jump before the collision. I'm a beast but not both. Gradually, however, I leave aside fantasies and I focus on reality, because s'arrimava run and the day of my life was in real danger.
raining and the sun was shining and he Tuna eixir com un coet al ruedo , les peüngles rebotant contra aquella arena nerviosa. Sabia què havia de fer: suportar estoïcament el dolor físic i esperar el moment oportú, la meua única oportunitat. Abans del picador i de les banderilles vaig guaitar el públic. Hi vaig reconéixer diverses personalitats, l'ambient amerat de testosterona femenina. Hi havia tres membres del Tribunal Constitucional (el de Burundi, per descomptat), un poc bufats. Hi havia també un cantautor barbut d'esquerres, però molt d'esquerres. Hi havia un altre cantautor, molt famós, molt poliglot i molt bona persona, però un poc tocat de l'ala, tot s'ha de dir: no puc pensar cap altra cosa d'un paio que creu which is a bass that nation in the Mediterranean. There was, in short, people and characters that had ever been photographed in those magazines fullejades coated paper to a friend's house or my hair when there was / going to make me permanent eh! Not think I compare them, only to fullege anthropological curiosity.
The bullfighter, with typical cooking tratge-so-similar to a Gaiata magdalenera, smelled fear in that archive and solid and liquid substance that drop when human beings have eaten too many Kiwis. I took pity and I do pity, because the blood jet down my spine, as the sun heated strongly and I had not brought the swimsuit. Already on the job, I thought it was easy to turn your head and horns of the road that marked the muleta and then I thought that this had probably already thought of all the bulls that throughout history have torejats been. But it could not, that archive was not my opportunity. In just one and would have had to take advantage. It had to be rushed. So I continued my representative role, engaging with and listening to the bravery bull, bull public and ole, ole the matador-or vice versa, do not remember, so far in Gaiata magdalenera which went towards the fence calling for the stock. Aleshores, yes. Arribat l'havia d'Tuna hours. CONTINUE
0 comments:
Post a Comment